


Lionhearted

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Nesta and Cassian run into each other frequently due to her sister’s engagement to his best friend, and the encounters never go the way either of them want. Tension boils over at the rehearsal dinner and then the next day at the wedding, where they say and do things they can’t take back.*Rating will go to E eventually."'I mean here, Cassian, in this hotel, at this bar. Why are youhere?' He was so good at pushing her buttons, and damn him if it didn’t work every time, though she knew exactly what he was trying to do. She seemed to jump on the chance to be annoyed at him as quickly as he jumped on the chance to annoy her, and she needed to puzzle out why, and quickly, before… Before what? She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to find enough patience within herself to get through the evening, and the next day, with him nearby."





	1. The rehearsal dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally begun with the prompt "The hills are alive with the sound of bullshit", and it became something much longer than I intended when I combined it with another suggestion/request.

The evening before Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, Nesta prepared for the rehearsal dinner by getting a drink alone. The bar of the hotel had seemed like as good a place as any for an over-priced gin and tonic, especially if it meant she didn’t have to wander alone down the sidewalk and be subjected to the inevitable leering of men who hung out on the city street corners at all hours of the day. She could play nice and support her sister, but she knew she needed something extra to smooth her sharper edges before she showed up at the restaurant. Edges that would inevitably come up against a certain infuriating best man. And combined with the fact that her father would be there… yes, she definitely needed this drink. 

Sipping from her glass slowly, she listened to the hum of quiet conversation just outside the bar in the cavernous lobby of her hotel, to the first tentative sounds coming from the instruments of the jazz band that was setting up for the evening. She had chosen a hotel where few of the other guests were staying, a decision that she had explained to her sisters as the result of poor last-minute planning, but really had more to do with not wanting to be surrounded by the sycophants who clamored for her future brother-in-law’s attention. The kind of power that Rhysand’s family wielded would ensure security for her sister - for all of them, really - but Nesta had no intention of being caught up with his crowd. 

She was seated at the end of the bar, close to where the bartender was cleaning glasses. There was no use in sitting too far away from the man with the bottle, she figured. Nesta was sure that no one she knew would show up here, at a generic hotel bar. Among the many privileges of being on her own was the fact that she could pretend to be ignorant of the group’s plans of where to meet, when, to think about having to please everyone else first. She was responsible for and answered to no one but herself. 

As she drank, she thought about Feyre and Elain, the recent changes to their lives that had them seeing a bit more eye-to-eye. A week ago she had talked to Feyre alone, for the first time in ages. The strain between them had become less and less, lately; in fact, it had been the first time that Nesta had spoken frankly to her sister about their mother, their father, the way that Feyre had had to take responsibility of the household when they were teens. Nesta and Elain had left as soon as they could, Elain moving in with her now-former fiancé as soon as she had graduated college and Nesta just… moving on. 

Nesta had told herself that their father, if left to his own devices long enough, would figure out that he was needed. That maybe one day he would get his act together and take care of her younger sisters. By leaving the moment she turned 18, she thought she was washing her hands of her responsibility towards them, forcing him to take it on himself. That didn’t happen, though, and she watched from afar as Feyre struggled to pick up the slack at far too young an age. 

She told herself that the anger she reserved was for him, but it had a habit of being aimed at the wrong people. 

When she had met Feyre for lunch, Nesta hadn’t expected to rehash the past. But over salads and microbrews, the two had come to a sort of… détente, if not outright understanding. Nesta knew her youngest sister would be fine, had found a life worth living, whether she had Rhys or not. And Feyre knew that Nesta had done what she felt necessary at the time, though it had come from a resentful, scornful place. Growing older had the effect of putting their childhood in perspective, and they were both ready to put aside animosity. 

Nesta had asked about Rhysand, about how Feyre had met him - there was an ex, someone Rhys knew, who had had a hard time letting go. Nesta had been… displeased to find that her sister had needed help in that way. That she had experienced something like this without reaching to her sisters for help. Not that she could blame her little sister. But if this Rhys was everything that Feyre claimed, then she could be happy for her. She would give him a chance. Which was why she had flown out here and had even helped her sister with some of the wedding planning. 

Checking her phone for the time, Nesta saw that she had planned perfectly. She had enough time for a second drink before leaving for the dinner at a new Italian place that Mor had clued Feyre in on, the kind of place where they cured their own meat. Finishing the last sip of her drink, Nesta asked for another and was waiting patiently when a voice came from behind her, smooth and taunting. 

“Nesta, sweetheart.” 

Her shoulders stiffened and she closed her eyes, cursing under her breath. _Shit shit shit_ … Of all the hotels in the city, of all the bars… Turning her head while keeping her body facing the bar, she answered him. 

“Cassian.” 

He stood a few feet away, rocking on his heels, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He was wearing a black suit, the first couple of buttons of his white dress shirt undone revealing the hint of the bronze, tattoo-covered skin underneath, and paired with his long, disheveled hair… _damn_. Nesta looked down at her own lavender dress without thinking, pushing the hem over her knees. 

Two seats down from her, Cassian slid onto a stool. The bartender set a napkin on the bar after greeting him and asking for his order. He directed his head in Nesta’s direction. “I’ll have what she’s having. And I’m in room 1015.” After a curt nod from the bartender, they were left alone again. 

“You don’t even know what I’m drinking,” she said. 

“I’m sure you won’t lead me astray. Besides, if you’re here trying to prepare for the rehearsal dinner, I’m sure it’ll be nice and strong. Which I can appreciate.” When the bartender returned with their drinks, Cassian lifted his glass to her. 

“To the bride and groom,” he said, attempting to toast. 

Nesta lifted her own glass and then drank before responding. “I’m not here ‘preparing’, as you called it. I just… needed a drink.” 

“Whatever you say, Nesta,” he replied. “But how did you end up at this hotel? Shouldn’t you be with your sisters? Helping Feyre get ready?” 

“Mor and Elain have made sure that Feyre has everything she needs. What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“Well my best friend is getting married tomorrow and there is a dinner that I believe you’ve been invited to as well…” 

“I mean here, Cassian, in this hotel, at this bar. Why are you _here_?” He was so good at pushing her buttons, and damn him if it didn’t work every time, though she knew exactly what he was trying to do. She seemed to jump on the chance to be annoyed at him as quickly as he jumped on the chance to annoy her, and she needed to puzzle out why, and quickly, before… Before what? She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to find enough patience within herself to get through the evening, and the next day, with him nearby. 

“Wouldn’t you know, poor planning on my part and this was the only place nearby with a room.” He grinned at her, tilting his head. Taking a drink, he continued. “I knew you had good taste, Nesta sweetheart.” 

“I didn’t say you could sit here, Cassian,” she responded calmly. When he said her name like that something shot through her, and she would ask him to stop if it wouldn’t encourage him. 

“Ah, yes, but you see, I don’t need to ask. I didn’t sit next to you. I am here enjoying a nice drink before my best friend’s rehearsal dinner, and I just happen to be close enough to speak to you. Which is a delight, as always.” 

She couldn’t drink quickly enough to get away, and she realized with dread that they were now certainly going to arrive at the dinner together. They passed the next few minutes in silence, the band finally beginning the first bars of a familiar song that she couldn’t name. Her foot began tapping in time to the music. 

When he had walked into the bar, Cassian had been pleasantly surprised to see Nesta there. And he had immediately begun calculating how he could approach her, how he get her to look at him with that steel curtain of self-defense lowered. Talking to her was an exercise in patience, and he hadn’t known any other woman who could get under his skin so quickly, with so little effort. So he had taken in her dress, her long waves, the melancholy expression on her face, and known that he needed to pull her out of whatever state she had found herself in. Even if it meant coming up against those sharp edges a few times. 

But now, watching her out of the corner of his eye, the obvious dismissal in her tone echoing through him, he wasn’t sure anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need to deal with this tonight, as much as he wanted to break through. He could always try tomorrow, but - damnit, he needed to get her out of his head, and he couldn’t do it by constantly hovering around her, pushing her and waiting for her to crack. 

“I’ll see you at the dinner, Nesta,” Cassian said, standing to leave. 

She looked at the bar and saw that he hadn’t finished his drink. “Wait, Cassian. You don’t have to go. Why don’t we…” she paused, deciding. “Why don’t we go together? We are going to the same place, after all. And I don’t know this area very well.” 

Cassian sat back down on the stool. “I would love to go to dinner with you. I’ve been wondering when you would ask me out.” 

He didn’t know where the words came from; rubbing her the wrong way seemed to be his natural reaction to her. Others took him seriously, took his teasing to be who he was, but somehow it rang false with her. And as much as he wanted her to take a break from this strange dance they had, to talk to him as if he weren’t an obstacle to avoid, he couldn’t help himself as he perpetuated its steps. 

Sighing, Nesta nursed her drink, choosing not to take the bait. Instead she asked him a question. “You’ve known Rhys for a long time, right?” 

“Since we were kids. In boarding school. I was there on a scholarship, like Az. Why?” 

Nesta looked over at him, looking for any hints of insincerity. “I want to know that he will be good to my sister. I don’t know him. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. I know he loves her. But sometimes that isn’t enough.” She glanced at the marble countertop of the bar in front of her before resting her eyes on him. 

“Rhys would move heaven and earth for your sister. Or he would sit back and cheer her on while she moved them herself. You don’t need to worry about her. Rhys is… he’s one of the best men I know. And I’ve known a lot.” Cassian watched Nesta as he spoke. “I don’t know Lucien as well as I know Rhys. But I think that if Rhys had a problem with him, we would know. I know he and Elain barely met and aren’t anything official. But I’ll keep an eye out.” 

The tension slowly left her shoulders. “Thank you.” He had a way of knowing what she was thinking, what she was asking, without her having to say. That extra bit about Lucien… she didn’t know how he knew that she needed to hear that. But she knew that he was unusually perceptive when it came to her, when most others took in her brusque exterior and then just walked away. 

They returned to comfortable quiet, the music filling the space where their voices had been. This man… since they had met months ago she had run into him a few times. He worked for Rhys in some capacity she had never cared to understand fully, and with Rhys’ connection to her sister, Cassian was unavoidable. She already knew that they had gone to some boarding school together, that Rhysand’s mother had taken him and Azriel in during holidays when they didn’t have a place to go home to. 

Besides this, she knew that he had an annoying habit of getting her to say things she had no intention of sharing. That he looked best with his hair unkempt. And that she absolutely, positively, could not trust herself alone with him. 

Cassian’s brash attitude had taken her aback at first. He had assumed she would swoon, and when she didn’t he pressed, and annoyed, and cajoled, until they found themselves in a battle of wills every time they met. She supposed that the way people reacted to his looks had given him certain expectations, and she had never been one to play into anyone’s assumptions. She had seen right through his bravado and pushed right back, trying to get him to drop the act. Sometimes, she succeeded and got a glimpse of what he hid underneath the attitude. And sometimes, when he succeeded, she found herself telling him more than she intended. But somehow, everything she told him he seemed to understand before she spoke. 

There had been a time, months ago, when he had caught her alone at Rhys and Feyre’s apartment. They had argued, over something ridiculous she couldn’t even remember, and he had kissed her, and since that day she found her mind returning to the feeling of his lips far too often. When he had left, they had made no plans to see each other again. She assumed that he would go his way and she would go hers. And every time they pushed each other’s buttons, it seemed to have the effect of breaking down the barriers that separated them, before they inevitably returned. But she still wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, if anything. Let alone what she wanted from him. 

Cassian cleared his throat and she turned to him, startled from her thoughts to find him still there. “Nesta, when you said sometimes love isn’t enough, what did you mean? Is this coming from personal experience?” 

She winced. “Yes.” After a moment, she continued speaking. “My ex-fiancé. He didn’t take it well when I ended things. I knew I wasn’t ready for marriage and he… he didn’t take it well.” 

Cassian’s face darkened. “What did he do?” 

“Nothing I couldn’t take care of.” She pursed her lips. 

She might tell him more later, eventually, if he asked again, but… she shook her head. Why would he ask again? Why had she even told him that much? Of all the things for him to catch… her statement about love had not been a clue, a breadcrumb left for him to find, to lead him to learning more about a moment in her past she would rather forget. She felt ill-equipped to handle herself while he was around, as if the last shred of control she had was about to slip away. 

Sensing that she was done giving him information about that chapter in her life, he changed the subject. “Do you want to dance with me, Nesta Archeron?” 

He held his hand out to her, his expression open and hopeful and… _damnit_. Her hand went out to him without thinking about it, resting in his large palm. Stepping gently off the stool, they locked eyes as they walked to the small dance floor. A few scattered patrons were the only other people in the bar; it was still early in the evening, and they felt like they had the place to themselves. 

When they reached the dance floor he wrapped his arms around her waist and she placed hers around his neck. Moving slowly together, the silence between them became tension as he gradually pulled her in closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and she felt him breath in sharply. When the tempo of the music sped up, they came to a stop, arms still around one another. 

“What do you want, Cassian?” she asked. 

“To find your ex-fiancé. To make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again.” His voice was low, ensuring his words wouldn’t reach anyone else in the bar. He reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear, though it was a fruitless gesture, her long strands already resting over her shoulder. 

“Why? Why do you care? You don’t know me. You barely know Feyre.” 

He looked down at her, his expression candid as usual. “I can’t stand men who think they can take what they want. As if you were some kind of prize he had won or deserved. And to hurt someone who trusts you, someone you love, even… My friends have been hurt by that kind of love. By their families. And so trust me when I say, Nesta, that actions speak far, far louder with me than any declarations possibly could. So I act. And I can promise you this. If I ever see the man who put his hands on you…” His voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor, the space in between them. 

Nesta took a deep breath. Then she pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, hands crumpling the starched fabric. She hesitated a moment and he waited for her, the decision being the difference between denial and letting herself have what she wanted, knowing that she would have to let down her walls to take it. She pressed her lips to his clumsily, with uneven pressure at first as she waged a battle within herself. Finally, confidence winning and decision made, she threw herself into it, parting his lips with her tongue as he threaded his fingers in her loose waves. 

The moment seemed to last an eternity, and it was the opposite of what she’d had before; where Tomas had been greedy, grabbing, an unrelenting taker, Cassian was… worshipping her. Pressing his body into her as if to combine his strength with hers, rather than take it. He let her lead, taking only what she was willing to give. They both tasted like the drink they had been sharing, but there was something heady and rich and combined with the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his curls brushed her forehead, Nesta felt herself falling, falling hard and fast and she wasn’t sure what it meant. 

He had seen the desire in her eyes before she grabbed his shirt, and he had hesitated, waiting to see what she would do. And now that her mouth was on his he felt like he had had ten drinks, like he could bury himself in her, like he would wait a thousand years for her to feel comfortable taking down her walls for him, or that he would help her dismantle them, piece by piece, taking down the armor that her childhood and her father and her ex had forced her to wear. As he increased his own intensity, tasting her, one hand on her face while the other gripped her waist, he could feel himself sinking, sinking, sinking into this woman he never wanted to be parted from. 

Nesta blinked, the reality of where they were rushing back to her. The hotel bar. Her sister’s wedding. And here she was, wrapped up in this man she had never even wanted to like… 

“Wait,” she said, panting, pulling away. “We can’t… everyone is waiting…” 

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, gently caressing her cheekbone and taking in the planes of her face as if to memorize them. Running the back of his hand down her arm, he took her hand. He began to lead her towards the exit but she yanked her hand out of his. Looking up at her with a question on his face, she gestured towards her chair. “I left my jacket.” It wasn’t a lie, but… it wasn’t exactly the truth, either. Of why she had taken her hand out of his. And why she had ended the kiss. 

They made their way outside and Nesta took in a deep breath of the city air. The sky was darkening to a deep blue as the sun set behind the mountains, and they walked the five blocks to the restaurant in near silence. She shook off the feeling of confinement, the fear that opening up to Cassian had created in her. He seemed to care for her, but so had Tomas. And she hadn’t been ready then. What was any different now? Cassian seemed different, but… she didn’t know if she wanted to take that chance. 

Cassian glanced over at Nesta occasionally, willing her to talk to him. Her hair was loose in her face and she walked as if there was no one else in the world. The appreciative glances she drew created tension in his back, but she seemed to be ignorant of them. He didn’t understand how; she was beautiful, her slight hips giving her a nearly boyish figure, but for the swell of her chest. Her lips had been reddened and swollen slightly by the pressure of his own, and he imagined pulling her into an alley and pressing her against brick to continue exploring the contours of her mouth. Moments ago he would have thought she might want the same thing. Now, he wasn’t sure. 

When they reached the restaurant, he opened the door for her and she entered without a word, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice. They walked down the steps into the restaurant that took up the basement of the building. Wine bottles hung from a wrack that covered one wall, a dark wood bar took up the opposite wall, and in the middle was a long table that had been set up for the wedding party. 

When she saw them enter, Feyre jumped up from her seat “Nesta! You made it.” Looking from her sister to the tall, handsome man she walked in with, a confused look crossed her face. “Did you… come here with Cassian?” Feyre asked, her voice colored with astonishment. 

“No. Well, yes. We ran into each other by chance. He was just convenient.” Nesta regretted her words immediately when she saw him stand up straighter next to her before turning to find a seat at the other end of the table. 

_Damn_. Feyre grinned at her, and Nesta chose to ignore the look. She gravitated towards Mor and found a seat next to the blonde, one of the only people in Rhysand’s orbit she could stand. 

When Nesta spotted her father at the other end of the table she gave silent thanks to whatever deity had placed Morrigan far, far away from her father at this dinner. He was drinking wine, something expensive that he probably had no intention of paying for himself. He would give a toast to the bride and groom, no doubt, pretending that he had had anything to do with the woman that Feyre had become. That all of them had become. 

Nesta tamped down on her anger and turned to Morrigan, trying to ignore the swell of emotions that would cause her to pour that wine down his shirt. 

The dinner passed pleasantly for the most part, although Nesta caught herself glancing at Cassian more often than she wished. He had sat next to Amren, another woman Nesta felt she might not mind getting to know better. Perhaps not everyone Rhys knew was horrible, but… she wasn’t used to this kind of life, surrounded by people who genuinely cared for each other, supported each other. It was almost more than she could believe coming from Mor, let alone the rest of them. 

She watched them all together; Elain seemed happy with Lucien, Feyre had Rhys, Azriel seemed enamored of Morrigan. And Nesta finally felt a sort of freedom from the past. They were all of them growing up, in a sense. But there was an ache in her chest that came from knowing that she was not like this, like the rest of them. She would not be open with her affection, she could not pretend to be ok when she wasn’t. And she wasn’t sure that someone as candid and caring as Cassian would want that. 

When their eyes met across the table, he raised his glass to her, and she returned the gesture. Friends, then. At least they could be that. But… maybe they could be more. 

They finished dinner and the group decided to go out for a drink together at a place that was a bit further away. Nesta didn’t really want to go, but when Feyre and Elain begged, she relented. Their father wasn’t coming, which was just as well. Nesta had had enough of his self-aggrandizement for one evening, and had nearly spit out her drink when he had filled his toast with allusions to the support and love that only a father can extend to his daughter. 

The bar was a typical hole-in-the-wall pub, and when Cassian brought her a gin and tonic within minutes of their arrival, she smiled. When a tall, beautiful woman in a flowing blue dress approached him and he greeted her, the smile vanished. 

The woman pulled up a chair to their group; he seemed to know her already. Either that, or he was just comfortable being very, very familiar with this woman he had just met. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she whispered in his ear, and while Nesta saw his eyes narrow at the move, she was too far away to hear what they were discussing. 

Nesta turned to Mor. “Do you know who that woman is?” 

Mor turned away from Azriel and the hand he had rested on her knee to look over at Cassian. A look of disgust quickly crossed her face. “That is Ianthe. She’s…” Mor waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, refusing to say more. 

After a while the woman left, and Nesta tried to keep herself from breathing a sigh of relief. 

When Cassian stood to go to the restroom she waited a moment and then followed him. She wanted to explain her behavior earlier, to tell him why she had pulled away, said he was a convenience. And really, the drinks she had been consuming steadily throughout the night were doing her a favor. There was a chance there, she thought. A chance to be happy with someone who wouldn’t ask her to be someone and something she wasn’t. If she could just find him. 

The restroom was down a long, meandering hallway, and by the time she had caught up to him, she wasn’t prepared for what she found. The woman in the blue dress was wrapped up in Cassian, pressing him against the wall. Her hands were threaded through his dark hair, pulling him down to meet her mouth. His own hands were on her waist, clutching her. When Ianthe released a small moan, Nesta suppressed the urge to walk up to the pair and slap him. 

Nesta felt the blood leave her face and turned away, quickly going back to the table. Stupid. She was so, so stupid, to think that she had seen anything in him other than a frat boy douche, how could she have thought for a minute that he cared for her? And the things she had told him earlier… he was no different from Tomas, really, and she should have known better. She chastised herself and gathered her jacket and purse roughly. 

Feyre noticed her sister’s distress and stopped her. “Nesta, what’s wrong?” 

“I just need to go. I’m tired,” she answered, knowing Feyre wouldn’t believe it, and not caring if she didn’t. Cassian came wandering back down the hallway and sidled up to Nesta’s side. She shrunk slightly from him, a move he marked with confusion. She looked up at him, wondering why he had stopped, why he hadn’t finished what he started in that hallway. No matter. 

“What hotel are you staying at?” Feyre asked her sister. 

“The Velaris,” Nesta and Cassian answered simultaneously, to which Feyre raised an amused eyebrow. 

“We aren’t staying together. I mean, it’s a coincidence. I planned poorly.” Nesta shot Cassian a glare. “Clearly.” 

Feyre nodded in mock understanding. “Well, you two share an Uber, then, if you need to. Cassian, make sure she gets back to her room safely, will you?” 

Nesta glared at her sister, at the implication that Cassian should take care of her in any capacity. 

“Consider it done, Feyre.” He pressed a hand to the small of Nesta’s back, leading her out of the crowded bar onto the street. She refused to say a word, not even to rebuke him, to get him to take his hand off her back. 

While there had been tension between them before, Cassian had the sense that something had happened, that there was something she refused to say. Now the tension was coming from a source he couldn’t identify. She wasn’t lost in her thoughts anymore; she was fuming. 

The ride back to the hotel passed in silence, Nesta pressing her legs against the door of the car while Cassian dealt with the driver. As soon as they pulled up to the hotel she leaped from the car. She reached the revolving doors when Cassian reached her, grabbing her arm to hold her back. 

“Nesta, wait,” he started, and was stopped short when a look of terror crossed her face. He released her arm and backed away a step. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I don’t know what happened earlier, why you pulled away, but…” When the look left her face he breathed a sigh of relief. But it was quickly replaced by anger. 

He stepped into the elevator with her and waited in silence. He got off with her on her floor and was surprised when she didn’t question his decision to follow her. As she walked to her room he stayed a step behind her, waiting until they got into her room before speaking. 

“Nesta, can you just talk to me? I’m really not sure what I did here. I’m sorry if you didn’t want to kiss me, it won’t happen again if you say the word.” 

“I don’t need or want anything from you, Cassian,” she said, throwing her hotel key down on the dresser. 

“Well the hills are alive with the sound of bullshit if that’s true, Nesta sweetheart,” he smirked. “Not based on the way you kissed me earlier. If you don’t want it to happen again, let me know, but I don’t think that’s true.” 

Thrusting a finger in his face she continued. “I don’t need anything from you, and you don’t need anything from me. So stop pretending you care. Stop pretending like you’re a good guy. I know better.” 

The smirk left his face and he stood in place, crossing his arms. He didn’t understand the source of her anger, how she could go from looking at him with something that seemed like caring, and then throw everything back in his face. 

“Nesta, you’re drunk. I’m going to go. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Her face darkened. “That’s good. Great. You can leave now. You did your job.” 

Cassian turned, his hand on the door. “Have a good night, Nesta. Try to get some rest.” 

When the door closed behind him Nesta finally let the prick of tears come, and the mere suggestion of them was enough to cause her to ball her hands into fists. She slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning while thoughts of her father, Tomas, and Cassian went through her. She had wanted to believe Cassian was different, but perhaps he had finally just given her the proof she needed that she was wrong, and she could let him go.


	2. The wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the wedding, Nesta tries to deal with what she saw Cassian doing at the pub the night before. She also has a special gift for Feyre on her wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this didn't go up to E yet, but it will. 
> 
> I do mention Tomas' attempted sexual assault of Nesta, so trigger warning for that!

The next morning, Nesta’s alarm went off at a highly inconvenient hour, considering the amount of alcohol she had consumed. There was the hotel bar, and then the restaurant, and then the pub… She moaned into her pillow, the throbbing in her head deep and familiar from her college days. It was nothing she couldn’t work off if she could find a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, but… her nostrils flared, thinking back on what she and Cassian had said and done. Putting that conversation behind her would be a different kind of challenge. 

There was no way she could face him today, but she would do it, she had to, for Feyre’s sake. She would be in the same room with him, if not interacting directly, and she would just have to deal with his rejection. Or at least, what she assumed was his rejection, given the woman from the night before. Bile rose up in her throat at the thought of her hands on Cassian in that hallway, and she quickly swallowed it down. 

She’d had no reason to believe any differently of him, to have had expectations that he might not be the type of guy to do that. But it still hurt to confirm her initial suspicions. 

Heaving herself out of bed, Nesta showered, threw on clothing and grabbed her bridesmaid dress and make-up bag. She needed to get to Feyre’s hotel soon, to help her prepare for her wedding. Maybe later, when it was all done and she could leave, she would come back here and try to work out how she felt about Cassian. For now, though, he was just one more person who could threaten her calm exterior, and so needed to be avoided. 

When she arrived at Feyre’s hotel room, it was a din; Mor and Elain were circling Feyre, fussing after her hair, her make-up, her dress, calling out orders to some of the other women in the room. Amren sat back, an amused grin on her face, and… was that a glass of red wine in her hand, at this hour? Nesta blinked. Well, she supposed, it was a celebration, and certainly many of the usual social conventions could be suspended for that. However, she suspected that Amren was not one to be concerned about that type of thing no matter the situation, and her estimation of her sister’s friend went up on principle. 

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Nesta plunged into the flurry of preparations, plastering a thin, tight smile on her face at the chorus of greetings that met her as she walked in. She went straight to Feyre to say hello, and then made her way to the edge of the room. Taking stock of the motions and energy in the room, she slipped quietly to the bathroom to change into her navy blue dress. Feyre had let her pick the style, just requesting the color, for which she was grateful. 

When she had changed her clothing, she smoothed the fabric, the cotton sheath hugging her body and falling just below her knees. She left her hair in a simple chignon at her neck, and as she finished putting on her make-up she rolled her eyes at the giggles coming from some of the… simpler of her sister’s guests. They were mostly women they had known before; friends of the family before they had lost their fortune, women who now pretended that Feyre had been on an extended vacation in Biarritz, rather than dealing with an abusive relationship, and poor, to boot. If she’d had her way, Nesta would have banished them all from the wedding for being shallow hypocrites, but this was not the day for making that sort of declaration. She knew that Feyre couldn’t stand it any more than she could, but she, like Elain, wouldn’t cut ties with their father and his friends as easily as Nesta would have liked. Not yet, anyway. 

When she left the bathroom, Nesta took one more look around the room before deciding to let Elain and Mor stay in charge, attaching herself instead to the calm that surrounded Amren. She took a necklace from her purse and held it in her hand, waiting for a moment when she could be alone with Feyre. 

The minutes passed and she watched Feyre getting ready for her wedding. Elain was in her element, surrounded by friends and making decisions about how this curl should lie just so, whether or not the bouquet was arranged appropriately, discussing the poses they should ask the photographer to capture. And Mor was there to make sure that enthusiasm didn’t override taste, for which both Feyre and Nesta were eternally grateful. They all worked so well together and Nesta felt herself becoming nearly comfortable. As if perhaps this new state of things might not turn out to be so horrible. If only they could stay like this, in this hotel room, and she didn’t have to see Cassian or her father at the wedding. 

She groaned internally, wishing she also had a glass of wine but not wanting to drown her sorrows as if she were incapable of working through them like a rational, adult-like being. If she could just concentrate on the scene before her, she might be able to ignore the fire inside. The fire that came from wanting to yell at Cassian for being such an ass, for letting her down, but also wanted to pin him against a wall and… 

He was also a part of this new milieu, a startling contrast to the old guard that she had grown to detest. And as much as she might want to dismiss him for good, a part of her wondered, hoped, even, that she had misinterpreted what she had seen the night before. Bitterness rose in her throat at memories of other times when she had counted on someone who cared for her to show that they actually… cared. 

The incident with Tomas had been shocking, though in hindsight Nesta felt like she should have known. She should have known that he was like that, that he would take it poorly, and she shouldn’t have ended their engagement in private. She wondered what she could have done differently, if she had provoked him in some way, other than breaking off their engagement, while understanding that he was not, had never been, the kind of man she should have let into her life. 

She told everyone that she wasn’t ready for marriage, but that wasn’t quite the truth. The realization that she could never marry him had come the moment he had dismissed what Tamlin had done to Feyre. The moment she understood that Tomas was… taking Tamlin’s side, and that he wouldn’t stand up for her sister if she asked him to. She didn’t know the details at the time; she and Feyre weren’t exactly on familiar terms until last week when she had shared the particulars of what had happened - but Nesta knew enough to spot excuses when she saw them. That Tomas knew Tamlin, what he was capable of, that their relationship had been turned into little more than gossip that her fiancé was more than willing to spread without defending his future sister-in-law. 

It had been a slap in the face. To see that unwillingness to stand and fight for someone who deserved it, who needed to be defended. And that it was someone close to her, however complicated their relationship might be, reinforced the fact that Tomas reminded her far too much of her father for her to marry him. 

And then when he had pulled her back to him with enough force to rip her shirt, looked at her with that disdain and greedy hunger before pressing his lips into hers so hard that his teeth cut her… She had born the bruises for over a week, the shape of his fingers imprinted into her and she wanted to be sick at the sight of them. She had brought her knee up between his legs, leaving him panting and clutching himself as she walked away on shaking limbs. She hadn’t seen him since. It was months ago, and it felt like yesterday. 

Her finger ran absently over the shape of the pendant in her hand. Another set of memories threatened to surface, but she shoved them back down. 

A glass of wine might not be such a bad idea, after all. But no, they were already ready to leave, and Nesta was torn from her thoughts by the sudden movement towards the door, the sound of chatter becoming even more excited. And far, far too energetic considering the hangover she was still nursing. She stood, letting everyone pass her by as she waited for Feyre. 

“Feyre,” she said quietly, hoping she would be heard past the echo of giggles coming down the hall as everyone else left ahead of them. 

Feyre turned and looked at Nesta, questioning. They were left alone in the room while Feyre held the short train of her dress off the floor. 

“I have something for you. It was mom’s. I kept it. But I want you to have it. For the wedding.” In her hand Nesta held out the thin silver chain, hung with the pendant she had been fingering. It was an unevenly-shaped U, with small points along its curve. “It’s a constellation. The Northern Crown.” 

Feyre took the necklace from Nesta’s palm, tears threatening. “Nesta, thank you. I barely remember this. She was… you were older and I don’t remember things as well as you do, and…” Her voice trailed off. 

“I’ll tell you about it later. But we have to make sure you get to the church on time.” Nesta embraced Feyre quickly, her expression remaining as unreadable as ever. 

“Thank you, Nesta.” Hooking their arms together, the two closed the door behind them, and made their way to the church. 

**** 

Feyre’s wedding to Rhysand was beautiful, as could be expected. Nesta had stood across from Cassian as part of the bridal party, trying to concentrate on the vows and her sister. She was far more attentive to Feyre’s needs than usual, in an attempt to keep herself from looking in his direction. Her small bouquet of violets and fern fronds was held solidly before her and she stood straight, watching everyone but Cassian. 

Rhys was clearly in love with Feyre. Anyone who could see the way he looked at her, or hear the way he spoke his vows, could see that. And Morrigan and Azriel couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. She had to be prodded to give Feyre the wedding band when the time came, so Nesta didn’t doubt who they would gather in a church for next. Even Elain and Lucien were exchanging shy glances, her from her place behind Mor at the altar, him sitting at a bench on Rhysand’s side. 

And Nesta refused to meet Cassian’s gaze, even as he stood facing her, behind Rhys. She had been grateful that they weren’t paired to walk to the altar together, though he had clearly been trying to get her attention since she had arrived. 

After the ceremony, everyone walked together down the block to a larger restaurant where the reception would be held. Feyre was glowing, and Rhys looked at her as if there was nothing else in the world, nothing that could tear his eyes away from her for more than a second. Ahead of her, Azriel was whispering something in Mor’s ear, their hands entwined and a small smile permanently etched on her face. Nesta’s stomach twisted, with the satisfying and bitter realization that Tomas never would have looked at her like that, the way that Az and Rhys looked at Mor and Feyre. 

**** 

Hours later, when she had finally gotten over her hangover and thought she had made it through the day, Nesta found herself back at her hotel room. During the reception everyone else had either paired off, or gone home, or danced, and she had found herself alone at the table the wedding party had been assigned. Their father had made a toast, insisted on dancing with Feyre, and then promptly left after barely attempting to speak with her. Nesta would have rebuked him, and they both knew it. Better to avoid pretending, and she was glad he had come to the same conclusion on his own. 

Cassian had tried to sit next to her, to speak with her, but a quick, piercing glance at him had him going the other direction. Her heart sunk at that a bit more than she wanted to admit. But she was prepared to put this day, and Cassian, behind her, and so she made her way back to her hotel room after seeing Rhys and Feyre off on their honeymoon. 

Collapsing onto her bed, Nesta considered her plans. The next day she would get up, and she would go home, where she would soon return to work at her law firm, and she would do her best to see Cassian only when necessary. Like holidays, or company gatherings, or family vacations, or… With a grunt of frustration, she punched her pillow. 

Her bouquet sat in front of her on the bed and she ran her fingers absently over the smooth petals, the fronds tickling her palm. The image of Cassian’s lips pressed against hers made its way to her unwillingly and she decided to indulge, just for a moment… The thought of his hair brushing her forehead, the way he pressed her back but held her up at the same time, waited for her to give only what she was willing… A fire began to grow at her core and she thought about taking off her dress, reaching down to touch herself. 

Another fist hit her pillow. 

She was standing to take off her dress and crawl into bed when a knock came at her door. Looking out of the peephole she was startled to see Cassian there, leaning casually against the wall opposite her door, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants. 

Nesta opened her door slightly. “What are you doing here, Cassian?” 

“I wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing after those drinks you downed yesterday,” he said, remaining across the hallway, his hands coming out of his pockets and resting at his sides. 

“I’m fine. I’m doing better.” 

He looked down the hall, hesitating. “Can I… Can I come in Ness?” 

She opened the door enough for him to enter, and walked back inside her hotel room. Before he followed her he leaned down to pick something up off the floor. Closing the door behind himself, he held it out to her. 

“Champagne? Cassian, I thought you were trying to make sure I wasn’t hungover anymore.” 

He grinned at her. “Hair of the dog, Ness. I swiped it from the reception. I thought we could celebrate on our own.” 

She sat down on the edge of her bed and gestured for him to sit at the desk. Before he did he found her bar and began trying to open the bottle. “You’d better not get that all over the carpet. Open it in the bathroom.” 

He raised his hand in mock salute and went to the bathroom to work the cork out of the bottle. A loud popping sound was followed by cursing and Nesta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Well your bathroom is now champagne colored, just so you know,” he said as he re-entered the room. 

“Clean it up before you leave,” she said shortly, taking the plastic cup he offered her. She held it while he poured her a glass, crossing her legs. When he sat down at the desk she had indicated earlier, she leveled her gaze at him. 

“What are we celebrating, then?” she asked. She held her cup out, prepared to toast. 

“The happiness of our friends, of course. Your sister, my friend. I suppose he’s your brother-in-law, now. So to… family.” 

She grimaced. 

“To family that we create… and to dealing with those we can’t get rid of,” he corrected, raising his cup. 

She returned the gesture and sipped the champagne slowly, the fizzing of the bubbles spraying her nose lightly. She held out her hand and was greeted with a napkin that Cassian grabbed off the bar. She wiped her nose off, ignoring the fact that they hadn’t spoken a word during the exchange. 

“So tell me why you’re here, Cassian. What do you want?” She took another drink from her cup. 

“I don’t know what happened yesterday. I thought maybe you would tell me.” 

She waited a moment, not to give herself time for honesty, but to consider what she would do if he refused to give her the same. 

“Ianthe. I saw you.” 

A confused look crossed his face. “Ianthe? She’s nothing. She is always hanging around, trying to get back in at Rhys’ family company. She’s a real piece of work, actually…” He trailed off as he realized what she had thought, what she must have seen in that hallway. “Oh, Nesta, no. I never… I’ve never been with her. She just… has a habit of showing up around when she’s not wanted. You should have seen what Mor did to her once when she started hitting on Az.” He tried to joke, but the look on her face tore his heart in two. 

“You were kissing her.” A simple statement, and an accusation. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She kissed me. I pushed her away. You probably came down the hallway right when she kissed me. God, Nesta, I’m so sorry you had to see that. Look, there is a lot about Ianthe you should know. She actually…” 

He struggled to continue, wondering if it would make a difference. He felt like he had broken a promise to her that he wasn’t aware he’d made, and then he realized why - what that promise was, would look like, and he faltered, realizing that he had made it, to himself at least. Whether she would accept what he had to offer was another story. 

He began again, steadying his voice and trying to push past this, to get to the part where he could tell her what he had really come to say. “Look, it’s not an excuse, but I have a history with women…” Nesta snorted “…and so Ianthe thought that maybe I was a way to get in good with Rhys. That’s all.” 

Nesta remained silent, her steel gaze boring into him. 

He continued. “Months ago, Rhys found out that she had something to do with… what happened, between Feyre and Tamlin. That Ianthe had told him where Feyre was, when she tried to leave. Ianthe was working for us at the time and was involved in other things, things that went against the company policy and so that was the last straw. He fired her. She has been trying to get back in his good graces and thought I might be a way to do that.” 

“What do you mean, she told Tamlin where Feyre was?” A lethal calm had come into Nesta’s voice. 

“Just what I said. They have a history too, her and Tamlin, and she’s just… I told you, Nesta, she’s not someone any of us want around, not anymore. When I found out that Ianthe had told Tamlin where he could find Feyre, I got her out. Az and I found another place for her to stay while she dealt with the restraining order and everything else.” 

Nesta stood, finishing her glass and pouring herself another. “You helped her? Feyre?” 

“Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal, I mean we had to go get her stuff, but…” his voice trailed off. 

“Why?” 

“Because she’s my friend. She needed help.” He stood, going to where she remained at the bar. She placed a hand on his chest, waiting a moment before she looked up at him. It fit - everything he was saying fit what Feyre had told her last week. That she had tried to leave, that he wouldn’t let her go, and that he had somehow found out where she had gone. Only Feyre didn’t know how Tamlin had learned where she was. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“I just wanted you to understand. I can’t stand you looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like… you can’t trust me. Like I’m going to do something to hurt you, or like if you glare at me long and hard enough then you’ll find the fault that will mean you don’t need to admit how you feel about me.” 

She snorted. “How I feel about you? Are you so sure, Cassian?” Her hand fell to her side. “Is this how you do it, then? Is this how you got your reputation, as you called it?” 

“Damnit, Nesta, I love you!” he blurted out. He sounded desperate, and he knew immediately that it was wrong, it was all wrong and she would never take it when he threw it in her face like that. 

She backed away slowly. “Don’t just say that because you want something from me right now. I’m not looking for that. I don’t need it.” 

“I would never…” A wounded look crossed his face and she knew she had said the wrong thing, the worst thing and she clenched her fists, turning away. 

There was a deep silence in the room and Nesta turned back towards him, forcing him to look her in the eye. There was a challenge on her face that he knew he needed to meet, to answer. 

“Nesta… I’m completely crazy about you. You yell at me, and I love you. You glare at me, you kiss me, you look at me like you are right now and I can’t take it because I just want to hold you and… I’m not asking anything of you. I will walk out of here right now and never see you again, if that’s what you want. Just… let me know. Tell me what you need, and you’ll have it.” 

He stopped, noticing a slight softening in her features. 

She took a step towards him. 

He waited. 

There had always been an openness to his expression, and now she recognized its sincerity. He hadn’t needed to tell her about Feyre, or Ianthe, or Tamlin. There wasn’t even a guarantee that it would have done any good, considering what everyone believed of her relationship with her sister. 

She reached him, her hands going up to his face, brushing a hair from his forehead. He covered her hands with his own and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, whispering her name. 

When she kissed him that time, it was with certainty. Knowing that it was what she wanted, that she hadn’t been wrong, that there was an honesty and honor in him that came not from wanting to take, but from wanting to give and if he didn’t make her so crazy she would have done this so long ago… 

Her tongue brushed up against his and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground until her feet were dangling. He began to walk with her, to push her back until she was stopped by the dresser, hitting it so hard that the TV on top of it rocked precariously, forcing Cassian to let go of her and save Nesta a rather larger hotel bill than she had bargained for. She landed on the dresser with a thud. When he had steadied it, they paused, smiling at each other. 

She spread her legs slightly to pull him in between them and he rested his hands on her thighs. Her sheath was riding up to make room for him, and he held himself back from shifting his body enough to make it ride further up, revealing her to him. His hands rested on bare skin, and he gently ran his palms over the few inches he could access, cupping her knees. 

Their eyes met and he was pleased to see fire there, and the challenge still. She would never let him get too comfortable; he could already see it in the way she pulled him in to her, while retaining her iron will. 

“Cassian,” she said. 

“Ness?” 

“Kiss me again.” 

He gripped her waist, the sheath she was wearing riding all the way up to her hips as he leaned into her as far as he could. The champagne coated her tongue still and he began to wonder if they would ever kiss without the memories of gin and champagne. She ran her hands through his hair as he pressed into her, their lips and tongues meeting and tasting and claiming. She rutted her hips into his before she realized what she was doing, how little fabric remained between him and her core. His hands ran up her thighs, cautiously, pressing her legs tighter around his hips, wanting to take her to the bed and learn every inch of her. 

She wanted him to touch her, she was burning to know what his broad hands would feel like between her legs, but she pulled away slowly. “Not yet.” Nesta had never been one to move fast, always too busy calculating, observing, and she wanted to take her time with Cassian, this man who infuriated and challenged her in ways she hadn’t expected. 

He nodded. 

She reached up to him, filling her fist with his curls and pulling on them gently. “Couldn’t you have at least taken care of this for the wedding?” 

He took her arm gently in his hand, pulling it away from his head. Her wrist was poised over his mouth and he breathed her in, closing his eyes at the fading scent of her perfume. When he brushed his lips on the soft skin there, feeling the heat of her pulse, she made a small sound. 

She was in deeper than she had realized and damn him if he hadn’t made her wrong - wrong about him, about herself, and maybe about a great deal of other things, too. 

“Cassian, I… I thought I didn’t need it, didn’t need you, but…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt you. And I’m not sure what I need, yet. But if you’re willing to try, I want to find out.” 

He paused while pretending to deliberate and consider what she had said. “Ok. Then… dinner. Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow? Do you think I don’t have plans, or that I’ll just drop them for you, or…?” She cocked her head at him. 

“Fine, then, Ness, you tell me. When are you free, princess?” He grinned, a smile that she was already figuring out how to coax from him in the future, one that made her heart pound a little bit faster. 

She paused before jumping off the dresser and walking to the bathroom door. 

“Tomorrow. But first, clean my bathroom.”


	3. The first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian go on their first date and try to figure out how they work when they aren’t expected to bicker all the time. Nesta has a candid conversation with Feyre about their mother. Later, as Nesta and Cassian are beginning to find a rhythm as a couple, an emergency interrupts their progress.

When Nesta made this date, she wasn’t thinking clearly. 

She considered canceling, considered calling and just saying that it was a mistake, no hard feelings, that she wasn’t ready to go out with anyone. 

Instead, when she called Cassian the next day, she reminded him that she lived outside the city and that he would likely need to leave early to make it to her place on time. She still had that nagging question in the back of her mind and had considered backing out then. But the smooth, confident tone in his voice had done something to her doubts, and by the time Nesta had shoved her phone back into her pocket, they had decided on a restaurant and a time and he knew her address. 

It was one of the more productive conversations they’d had, and Nesta ran through their words over and over, trying to figure out if there was any deeper meaning in anything either of them had said. 

When Cassian had shown up at her door, she considered pretending she wasn’t at home. Only briefly, but the thought had been there. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. She had thought of little else, really. But she didn’t know what to say, how to react, when they were supposed to be around each other and not fight. When they were both actively trying to be diplomatic, at the very least. 

And of course he was on time. Annoyingly on time, when she had assumed he’d be late and so had been rather slow getting ready. 

She opened the door, barefoot, eyeliner in hand. “Cassian. Hi.” 

His hair was, as per usual, disheveled in a way that only he could pull off without making it seem unkempt. Holding his hands behind him, he grinned at her. “Hi, Nesta.” 

She stood back to let him in, closing the door behind him. He spun around on his heels, pulling a bottle of gin from behind his back - it was from the same distiller she had been drinking at the bar. 

“For you. So you can reenact our evening downtown any time you would like.” 

She cocked her head at him. “You mean the evening where I called you convenient and thought you had found some random woman to make out with after you and I kissed?” 

“That’s the one,” he replied, without missing a beat. 

“Yes, let’s commemorate that,” she finished sarcastically. Looking around her kitchen, she had another thought. She pulled a glass out of a cabinet and gestured to the fridge. Putting the glass down in front of him, she said, “Tonic water is in there. I’ll be a few minutes.” Without waiting for a response, she strolled down the hallway to what he assumed was her bedroom. 

Cassian took the glass, feeling the weight and heft of it in his hand. Walking to the refrigerator, he noticed music coming from down the hallway. It was the same music that had been playing when they were at the hotel bar together. He smiled to himself. 

He opened the bottle of gin, the seal on the lid emitting a crackling noise as it broke. Making this drink in her kitchen without her there was somewhat unsettling. He felt as if he had been asked to stay and become intimately familiar with the space, to use it as his own. He poured the proper amount of gin, then tonic water. Grabbing another glass from the cabinet he had seen her reach into, he made Nesta a drink as well. There was no use in him going to dinner the only one who had been loosened a bit by alcohol. 

Cassian used the time to take in Nesta’s apartment. It was orderly, for the most part, if a bit too intentionally organized for his tastes. He strolled, glass in hand. Everything was tasteful and expensive, the beige couch complementing the bright red throw pillows, a Rothko print hanging on the wall behind it. Next to the tv was a small framed picture, the only personal photo he found in the room. He picked it up to examine it. 

It was spring or summer in the photo, based on the sun, the foliage, the clothing Feyre, Elain, and Nesta wore. They were standing outside, in front of a large house. They were children, Nesta being maybe 12 or 13. She had a severe look on her face, though one arm was firmly around Elain’s shoulders, who stood in the middle. Feyre was on her other side, smiling politely into the camera, while Elain’s grin could barely be contained. Cassian shook his head, wondering when their mother had passed, how closely to the event this picture had been taken. Of the three he knew Feyre best, and that she remembered little. Only that she seemed to be burdened with the sense that it was her job, though the youngest, to take care of the family. 

Setting the picture down exactly as he had found it, Cassian continued his examination of the room. Another painting was settled over the fireplace, one he thought was probably Feyre’s doing. In it a sunset was fading into black over mountains, the stars of the night sky barely coming into view. Running a finger gingerly over the frame, he noted the brilliant reds and oranges and pinks she had used. For Nesta’s benefit, surely; Feyre was not likely to use such a palate for herself. 

When his eye caught on her bookshelves he went to them. The bottom shelf was dedicated to legal texts - clearly, work related. He placed his fingertips on them, brushing over the paper and leather, tilting his head so he could read the titles. Moving up the bookshelf, he noted the way she had organized the books. At the bottom, work-related books, followed by rows of pre-1900 classics, then mid-century classics, and then literary fiction. In the midst of all this literature, he made a few wry observations. 

The music coming from down the hallway shut off suddenly, and Cassian stood up straight, shifting himself away from the books. Nesta walked out of the hallway, taking the drink he had made for her from the counter without a word. 

“See anything you like?” 

He took in Nesta’s red dress, the hem falling just below her knees, her well-muscled calves leading to her black patent leather heels. She held one arm crossed in front of her while the other raised her glass to her mouth, her eyes leveled on him as she sipped. If he didn’t already know her, he might have been intimated to all hell. As it was, he wondered how he had managed to get this far with her. 

Cassian held a book out in front of himself. “ _Fates and Furies_. I should have pegged you to read this sort of thing.” 

She scoffed. “You don’t have to pretend to know what it’s about.” 

“I was going to ask you what you thought of Lotto’s attitude towards his wife, actually. I, for one, am not surprised that he didn’t understand her at all. He never even gave Mathilde a chance to be a flawed person. He just idolized her and then couldn’t see anything beyond the façade. Wouldn’t you agree?” He took a drink from his glass before setting the book back in its place on the shelf. “Men do that, sometimes. Act as if women should be put on a pedestal. Instead of seeing them for who they are. As people.” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “So you’ve read it.” She took a step closer, her arm remaining crossed in front of her. Another drink from her glass. “Your observations may be accurate, but that hardly means they are original.” 

“Indeed. Now this book,” - he took another from the shelf - “this one I can’t say I’ve read.” He held up a copy of _50 Shades of Grey_ , its edges well-worn, the cover bent. 

Pursing her lips before replying, Nesta said, “Well then maybe you should give it a try. Along with not prowling my bookshelves for the secrets to my soul.” She grabbed the book from him and shoved it back in its place, putting herself between him and the shelves. Suddenly she was nearly pressed against him, far, far too close. She refused to move.

Downing the rest of her drink, she asked, “Ready?” 

Holding his ground, Cassian finished his own drink. Smirking at her, he took her glass, rinsing them both out before putting them in the sink while she watched. He walked out into the hallway, hands in his pockets as he waited for Nesta to grab her purse. She locked the door behind them and a slightly uncomfortable silence reined as they made their way to his car, then to the restaurant. 

The restaurant was new, trendy, and one that neither of them had been to before. It had been recommended to Cassian by a friend, but the moment he stepped inside he wondered if it was the right choice. The decor was sterile, the menu sparse and expensive, and the near-silence was oppressive. This wasn’t the kind of place he would go to normally, and he doubted it was the kind of place Nesta enjoyed, either. Too bad neither of them had realized that ahead of time. 

The waiter showed them to their table and they went for the same chair, both wanting the one that kept their backs to the wall. They nearly collided but Cassian jumped back just in time. Holding the back of the chair, he gestured for Nesta to take it. Keeping her skirt back so it wouldn’t brush against the table linens, she maneuvered herself around to the other side of the table, taking the chair opposite from where he was standing. 

With a tight nod, Cassian sat in the chair they had nearly bumped into each other for. 

Once they were settled at their table and their drinks had been ordered, Nesta held her stark white menu in front of her, occasionally looking over it at Cassian. She shifted in her seat. She had high expectations for this date despite herself. But those expectations were tempered by an occasional internal reminder that this was Cassian, that she still wasn’t sure if she trusted him, and that she didn’t know if there was anything to him beyond his ability to be just perceptive enough to know how to get under her skin. 

After the waiter came to take their order, Cassian leaned back in his chair. “Well, this is the part where we get to know each other, right?” 

“Right.” Nesta let her eyes travel over his features, the long curly hair she wanted to feel around her fingers, the soft bottom lip she wanted to trace with her thumb. “So tell me about yourself, Cassian. I know about the boarding school, with Rhys and Azriel. I know where you work.” She waved her hand in the air. “Tell me things I don’t know.” 

Cassian cleared his throat and began. “A story for a story, Ness.” He waited. 

“Deal.” 

“I’ll start. You know about Rhys and Azriel. That Rhysand’s mother took me in, along with Az, when we didn’t have anywhere else to go. Holidays, summers, things like that. I decided to return her kindness in the best way I could, by working with Rhys. When she passed, it was like losing my mother all over again.” He pursed his lips, eyes going to the knife he was fingering on the table. “I spent a lot of time as a kid trying to prove myself. I guess I did. But I think she would say I didn’t need to.” 

He took a drink of water. “Rhysand’s father had taken the company in a direction that he didn’t want, selling tech to the wrong sort of people, things like that. When he took over, he asked for my help to change that. And I think his mother would approve.” His eyes lowered briefly before returning to her face. 

Cassian took the pause in conversation to change the subject. There were things he held back - things he would tell her about, eventually. But this was just the start, he hoped. 

“So, tell me about yourself, Nesta Archeron. I know a bit about your childhood, from Feyre.” She flinched. “But I’d rather know about you now. What you’ve done since then. Tell me some more of your story.” 

She leaned back in her seat and pulled at the hem of her dress. He thought she might not reply for a moment, but then she spoke. 

“OK. When I left home, I went straight to college. You know why I left, I think. My relationship with my father has always been strained, even before my mom passed. So after I graduated college magna cum laude, I went straight to law school. I found a firm willing to take on someone new and I moved to the city for a while, to see how I liked it. I didn’t really. So I decided to leave the city, but stay near enough for work.” 

Cassian nodded patiently, waiting for her to mention how she felt about anything she experienced. Waiting for her to talk about how these events had affected her. 

“When I broke up with Tomas, I decided to settle here, to be closer to Feyre. And I convinced Elain to come along with me when she graduated. There were more opportunities for her here, anyway, with all the green tech companies around. And I had already developed a solid reputation, enough to get a permanent position at another branch of the firm,” Nesta finished. 

Cassian couldn’t help getting the impression that she had shared a series of events wholly unconnected to her, as if she had moved about them as an observer rather than participant. He placed his elbows on the table, pressing his fingertips together. “And what do you want next, Ness? Why stick around here, when Feyre is settled, and Elain might be soon?” 

She blinked, the answer to this question causing giving her more pause than all of the details leading up to it had. “That isn’t part of the story.” 

Cassian stared. “Of course it is.” 

Nesta looked into her glass before taking a sip. “I want to make sure my sisters are happy, even if I can’t help them with it. Even if it would never be because of me.” 

“That’s them. What about you?” His elbows remained on the table, drawing glances from the more well-heeled of the restaurant’s patrons. 

“I want…” She shrugged, the motion barely perceptible. “I want to see the world. To see what I can accomplish. What I’m capable of.” 

Cassian nodded. “I expected nothing less.” 

The waiter came with fresh glasses of wine for them, providing Nesta with a reprieve from Cassian’s questioning. She grabbed her glass from the table and sipped from it slowly. She didn’t know how to answer his confidence in her. He hadn’t pushed, but she still felt as if she had given him more than she intended. Somehow. 

They both passed an inordinate amount of time drinking, slowly so as not to get drunk. They looked into their glasses, watched the people around them, tapped the table, moved silverware around its surface. 

When their food came, they both clung to the waiter as a distraction, Cassian joking with him, Nesta asking questions and making demands. They exchanged small smiles as they began to eat, paying their food an unusual amount of attention. 

Nesta struggled to keep herself from grabbing her cell phone and texting Elain. Cassian shifted in his chair and it creaked. 

“So what do you think of this place?” he asked. 

Nesta nodded. “It’s alright. A bit pretentious, but I didn’t expect different. You?” 

Cassian nodded in agreement. “I like it.” They both returned their attention to their plates and the only sound for ten minutes was silverware scraping on china, glassware clinking, the brush of napkins against the table linens. 

Nesta stopped eating and watched Cassian until he realized her eyes were on him. He set his knife and fork down and waited for her to proceed. “Look, Cassian, I’m not exactly… I was with Tomas for a long time, before we broke up. It’s been a long time.” 

“Nesta, despite my reputation, I don’t think I know what I’m doing any more than you do. But I’d like to try. With you.” 

She watched him for a moment before returning her attention to her food. Cassian followed suit. 

Moments passed during which neither of them said a word. Cassian stopped eating and watched Nesta. Her movements were small, calculated. She kept her plate clean as she ate, her posture erect and proper. So much more proper than himself, with his elbows on the table and the way he slouched back in his seat when she spoke. There was more to this woman than he knew, and even his patience might be tested if he had to wait through dinners like this to get her to talk to him. 

After letting the silence build to a tipping point, Cassian spoke. "How is your food?" 

She nodded her head in approval. "Good. And yours?" 

"Delicious." He smiled at her, trying to break the sudden ice between them. When she didn't return the smile, he looked back down at his plate. 

Nesta wanted this to go better. She knew it could go better. She didn’t know what to do or say that wasn’t intrusive or inappropriate or too revealing about herself, and she could feel herself slipping back into cold reserve. She went back over their conversations, what they had shared with each other, when they had felt comfortable, when it had all changed. Running the events of the evening in her head, she made a decision. 

Nesta set down her fork. “This isn’t working.” 

A near-smirk came over Cassian’s face. “Something not up to your standards?” 

“We should go,” Nesta said. 

He nodded curtly in response. 

“Back to my place,” she continued. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He had no idea how to take her request. Did she want him to take her home and leave? To take her home and stay? Or something else entirely? 

A flicker crossed her face before she answered. “Let’s get this food boxed up and go back to my place. This is… something is off. Let’s try again.” 

Raising his hand to call the waiter, Cassian took care of the food while Nesta calculated their shares of the bill (at her insistence). The moment they left the building they nearly breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to Cassian, Nesta gave him a small smile. “So… my place then.” 

“Your place.” Taking her hand, he led her back to his car and they made their way to her apartment. 

Nesta hadn’t expected to return with Cassian, and walking through the door didn’t allow her to take a breath, to relax her shoulders. She kicked off her shoes, searching for what comfort she could, and indicated a cabinet for him to find plates in. While he plated their food she grabbed wine glasses, giving them each a pour before settling at her dining room table. She crossed her legs, covering her lap with a blanket and leaning back as he placed a plate in front of her and then sat in the chair not across from her, but next to her. She finally loosed a breath. 

"I think I'd like another story, Cassian," Nesta said. 

“I think you owe me at this point. But what would you like to know?" 

"Anything. And I'll give you another story. But maybe not tonight." 

"OK. But I'll hold you to it, Ness." 

With that, Cassian told Nesta the story of how he and Rhys had tried to steal the headmaster's car in their senior year, and it was only by the grace of Morrigan's quick thinking and their family connections that they hadn't all been expelled. 

She discovered what he looked like when he talked about family, the glint in his eye that indicated that he would do anything for his brothers. 

He discovered what she looked like when she allowed a laugh to overtake her body, leaning forward as she covered her mouth and tried to contain the odd sounds escaping. Sounds he knew he would give her a hard time about, but that left him helpless to return her laughter with his own. 

As he was leaving, Nesta brushed a quick kiss over his cheek and then backed away, holding open the door. But they made plans to see each other again, soon. And then again, after that. What had begun as an evening of awkward silence turned into a series of plans, with Nesta being quite in Cassian's debt, owing him no less than 6 stories about her own life. 

***** 

Nesta had Feyre over at her apartment for a drink a few weeks and several dates later. Feyre had just returned from her honeymoon and said she wanted to talk with Nesta. She wondered if this was part of their new, more sisterly relationship, hanging out together at her apartment, as if this were something they normally did. As if there was anything normal about the way they had grown up and now struggled to relate to one another. 

When Feyre appeared at her doorstep, Nesta couldn’t help wonder at her. She had continued to fill out and the smile she wore seemed to be part of her as much as her long brown hair or the paint splatters that she inevitably missed washing away from her hands and arms. 

Nesta hardly recognized her sister now, and it was for the better, she knew. The eternal slump to Feyre’s shoulders had vanished. The eyes that used to scan a room and made her seem never quite present had transformed into a gaze that would hold your own. Her observations now were less about pragmatism and more about understanding. Nesta wasn’t sure how this would translate into their own relationship, but she was far more prepared to find out now than she had been weeks ago. Before Cassian. 

After greeting one another, Nesta pointed Feyre to the kitchen bar, where Feyre found a stool. She reached into the cabinet and grabbed two glasses, pulling out the now nearly-empty bottle of gin that Cassian had gifted her. 

“How has work been?” Feyre asked. 

“The usual,” Nesta replied. “This one jackass thought he could take credit for an idea I came up with, but we’ve started doing a new thing in meetings. Any time a woman has an idea and he tries to repeat it and claim it as his own, we repeat the idea and give the woman credit. It’s pretty funny, actually, watching him get edged out.” She snorted, thinking of the expression on his face when he realized that he was being called out, in a subtle and completely diplomatic way. 

“Sounds like my kind of law firm.” Feyre loved talking to Nesta when she was like this, when she allowed herself to look happy. 

“How was your honeymoon? Iceland, right?” Nesta moved around the kitchen while Feyre sat at the bar, watching her work. 

“Yep. It was great. So beautiful, and Rhys of course had been there several times before and knew all the local, less touristy places to go. It was… Nesta, I never thought I’d have this.” Her sudden candidness had Nesta pausing to look at her before pouring a drink. 

“You’re happy, then?” Nesta asked. 

Feyre smiled. “More than I thought I could be. I didn’t think I’d find anyone like him. After Tamlin, I didn’t realize that I deserved more. I thought it was normal, the way he would talk to me, the way he would treat me. I thought what I had with him was normal, that he would change, he was just having a hard time. And I was horrible to Rhys, at first.” Feyre laughed. “I didn’t even tell you what I did, when I first met him.” Nesta cocked her head. “Maybe another time. It’s embarrassing, really.” 

“As long as you’re happy, Feyre. That’s all that counts.” She raised her glass. “To making our own families, and finding out that the old ones weren’t always so bad.” She smiled ironically, but Feyre met Nesta’s glass with her own. 

“You know you’re the only one who hasn’t already started pestering us about when we’re going to have kids,” Feyre said. 

Nesta shrugged. “You’ve always taken care of others. No need to start rushing into that again, so soon after marrying Rhys.” She took a deep breath. Cassian had told her something recently, something that had brought home exactly how bad Feyre had had it with Tamlin. All he had seen was the aftermath - the destroyed apartment, Feyre huddled in a corner. It was enough. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Tamlin?” 

Feyre rested her forearms on the bar, hands cupping the glass. “Nesta, we were barely speaking at the time. What would you have done, anyway?” 

Nesta leaned back and crossed her arms. She watched Feyre, her expression open, genuine, waiting. Patient. She was always so self-sacrificing and now she was here challenging Nesta to… to what? 

“Tell me. In the future. OK?” 

Feyre held Nesta’s gaze for a moment, and then nodded. She reached up to the necklace she wore, the one that Nesta had given her. “You were going to tell me about this.” 

Nesta sighed and looked away for a moment, out the window and the view of the mountains that her apartment building claimed as one of its main draws. 

“It’s the Northern Crown. It was Mom’s. Ariadne helped Theseus escape the labyrinth with the minotaur. She was abandoned by him soon after, and the god Dionysus saw her grieving and fell in love. When they married, she threw her crown into the sky and it became this constellation. It was one of mom’s favorites. She said that it was about second chances. Finding out that sometimes, what you think is love, the time you spend… It doesn’t always come back to you. It doesn’t always turn out the way you want. But there could be someone else.” 

Feyre fingered the pendant while Nesta spoke, her gaze getting further and further away. “What was her second chance, do you think?” 

Nesta scoffed. “Not Dad.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think maybe she was waiting for it.” 

Feyre lifted her glass. “To second chances. I’ve had mine. I think you have yours now, Ness.” 

Nesta didn’t respond other than to lift her glass. Maybe, she and Feyre could find some sort of equilibrium, as she was trying to find with Cassian. 

“How are things going with Cassian, by the way?” 

Nesta braced her hands in front of her on the counter. “They are going well, I think. I’m waiting…” 

Feyre remained silent. 

“We’ve been out several times now. We usually end up back here.” Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Not like that, Feyre, what do you think I am? We haven’t gone that far. It’s just… comfortable here. Just the two of us. We have a routine, actually.” Her voice caught, wondering if she should tell Feyre about this. 

“What kind of routine? You aren’t going to tell me any weird sex stuff, are you?” 

“No Feyre, I just said, no weird sex stuff. But we tell each other things and we keep count. We owe each other stories, we say. They are about our histories, or things we want to do, or things that happened during the day.” 

“And how many do you owe him?” Feyre asked. 

“Why do you assume I owe him?” Nesta retorted. 

“Come on, Ness. It’s you and Cassian. Of the two, who would be more inclined to share?” 

“OK fine. I owe him. Like ten stories, OK?” 

“Why?” 

Nesta’s brow furrowed. “Why, what?” 

“You know what, Ness.” 

Nesta tapped a fingernail on the counter. She shifted so that her hips were no longer pressed against the counter and stood with her weight balanced on both feet. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for him to decide he’s done, he’s had enough of being patient. I don’t always share things, what I’m feeling, thinking.” 

Feyre snorted. “That may be true, but you know that doesn’t matter, right? That if he cares, he will do what he needs to do to be with you. Has he shown that, so far?” 

“I suppose he has.” 

“So then why the hesitation, Nesta? I’ve known him longer than you. You know I’d never let anyone around you or Elain if I didn’t trust them.” 

“I’m the oldest, Feyre. I’m supposed to be the protective one.” 

“Well,” Feyre said. “You do watch out for us. In your own way. It’s time for you to take your own advice, though.” She lifted the pendant from her chest, holding it out for Nesta to see. 

Nesta raised her glass once more. “To the family we find. And the ones who aren’t so bad after all.” 

***** 

Later that evening Cassian came to Nesta’s apartment, takeout in hand. 

They had indeed managed to find something of a routine. Their easy banter had changed in character; it was less about pushing to find boundaries, and more about pushing to challenge the other to let them in. Nesta found that she didn’t mind it quite as much as she thought. Not when he smiled at her the way he did, let her run her fingers through his hair as much as she wanted, and always knew when to stop asking questions. She would forever be in his debt, forever owing him stories, but he didn’t seem to care. 

He went to the kitchen, pulling out dishes and serving them both while telling her about his day at work. She sat on a barstool and watched him, admiring him and his straightforward way of expressing himself, and terrified of the way her heart seemed like it was about to burst from her chest. 

They settled themselves on the couch when they were done eating, Nesta waving a book around in the air as she described its merits and deficiencies to him. There were few situations in which she allowed herself to seem so animated, and Cassian drank in the sight. 

A knock came at the door. 

“Did you have another date lined up that I don’t know about?” Cassian asked. 

Nesta shook her head. “I don’t know who that could be.” She set her book down on the coffee table and lifted her legs from where they had been draped across Cassian’s lap, padding towards the front door. 

She looked through the peephole and turned back towards him. “It’s Mor,” she said before opening the door. 

Without waiting for an invitation Mor pushed through the doorway. Her hands were clasped together so hard that her knuckles turned white, and she turned back from Nesta to Cassian, her usual carefree expression replaced by something Nesta didn’t recognize. 

“I need your help. It’s Azriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain this will now be 5 parts. :D
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://abookandacoffee.tumblr.com/).


	4. The emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta goes with Cassian to take care of an emergency at Azriel’s apartment. **TW** self harm mention

In the car on the way to Azriel’s apartment, Cassian hardly spoke a word. 

After bursting into Nesta’s apartment, he and Morrigan had exchanged a look that she didn’t understand. She kept quiet, wisely, and let him take her hand to lead her out. He had gripped her wrist at first, miscalculating distance. She gently pulled him away and held his hand properly, to which he made no reply, merely leading her out of the apartment and waiting for her to lock the door behind them. 

Mor drove, taking the highway downtown. Nesta and Cassian shared the back seat, sitting apart but their hands clasped in the space between them. He looked out of the window the entire time. Accustomed as she was to keeping things to herself, she didn’t pry. But that didn’t mean she was comfortable that this man who had previously been so frank had suddenly become taciturn. 

Nesta knew how to handle situations like this. She never cracked under pressure, and she knew that Cassian needed someone who would be there for support when he asked, but who wouldn’t demand anything of him. And she wondered about this silent understanding, the way they had quickly fallen into this. They were still learning about one another, finding out the pet peeves and the small things that made them laugh and the way they each felt about books being made into movies. All of the little details that had become second nature with Tomas, as if she had always known them, but she was still figuring them out with Cassian. But this - she could do this. Even if some of the smaller, less important moments escaped her, she felt confident that she could be strong for him now. 

When they got to the apartment and out of the car, Cassian pushed his hair back from his forehead and turned to Mor. “Did you see it?” His voice was low and grave, and she responded with a quick nod. “Does Rhys know?” 

Mor nodded again. “He’s on his way.” 

Cassian strode into the building, holding the door open for Mor and Nesta, although he barely looked at either of them. 

Nesta had never been here before. Azriel wasn’t the most open of the group, a trait she could appreciate. Rhys and Feyre tended to be the sun around which their social circle orbited, and this was blocks away from even the outskirts of their neighborhood. She wondered why Az would separate himself quite this much from the rest of them, when they all seemed so close, so willing to share nearly every aspect of their lives. They were closer to each other than she and Feyre were, at least until recently. So she assumed that the boundaries would be less than this, but that it would be Az to be more isolated was not a surprise. 

Cassian walked straight into a bedroom in the back of the apartment and Mor stood against a wall in the hallway, in a position to talk to Nesta while listening for Cassian to call for her. Nesta heard low voices when he opened the door, but it shut again quickly. The way that they moved into position without communicating made Nesta wonder how often they had played through this particular scene. 

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this, Nesta,” Mor said, hands clasped behind her back. She looked more somber than Nesta had ever seen her, and if she had ever needed proof that Mor’s smiles could be a carefully constructed facade, this was it. A certain weariness had crept over her face, one that Nesta recognized. 

“Can I ask?” Nesta knew she couldn’t help, not in any way that counted, but she didn’t want to be left in the dark. For Cassian’s sake. 

But Mor shook her head. “I’ll let Azriel tell you, if he feels comfortable. Cassian can tell you some pieces as well. There are things…” Her voiced trailed off and she took a deep, shaky breath. “There are things that even I wasn’t around for. I’m sorry, Nesta, but this is not my story to share.” 

“Of course. I understand.” Nesta took a seat in the living room, knowing from experience that these events… they rarely arranged themselves neatly, or in a timely manner. Silence fell over the apartment, and, absent talk or music or television, they counted out the seconds from the clock that was ticking near the front door. 

Time passed - Nesta wasn’t sure how much, she knew not to try to keep track - and Cassian opened the bedroom door just enough to ask Mor to join him. She went without a backward glance, and Nesta pulled a book out of her purse. When Rhys and Feyre showed up at the apartment, he entered the bedroom without a word while Feyre sat next to Nesta, a stony resolve on her face that Nesta knew meant she wasn’t likely to get any more information out of Feyre than she had gotten out of Mor. Returning to her book, Nesta reached into her stores of patience. 

More time passed. When all four of them left the bedroom, they looked exhausted. It had been early evening when Mor had shown up at Nesta’s apartment, and now it was nearly midnight. She stood to greet them, looking at Azriel for signs of what had happened. Nothing. She couldn’t detect anything wrong with him, and swallowed her questions. He merely nodded at her, though his silence was not much of a change. 

“Do you need a ride home?” Mor asked Nesta. 

“Yes, and Cassian’s car is at my place, too,” she answered. He, Rhys, and Azriel were still talking, their heads close, but she couldn’t make anything out. 

They waited by the door for Cassian, and Az gave her a quick wave before wandering back to his room. Nothing was revealed on his face, but Nesta would have been surprised if it were. 

The drive home passed in much the same way as the drive there - quietly, though with less tension radiating from Cassian. When they made it to her building she asked if he wanted to come in and he accepted. 

Tossing her keys on the counter, Nesta let loose a sigh and sat on her couch, placing her hand on the cushion next to her. “Come sit. Talk to me.” She had waited all evening, had tested the limits of her patience, and had had enough of others’ silence. Cassian sat by her, elbows resting on his knees for a moment before he leaned back. 

“Thank you, for going,” he said. 

“Of course. I’m not sure what help I was, but-“ 

“You were,” he interrupted. “Even if you don’t know what’s going on. Knowing you were there was… good. And I know that Azriel and Mor appreciated it, too.” 

Nesta snorted. “I doubt that.” She laid a hand on his knee. “Can you tell me?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I think it will be better coming from Az. But I don’t know if he even understands. If any of us do.” Cassian paused. “Do you still have that gin?” 

Patting his knee, she stood and prepared them both drinks. When she returned she crossed her legs and faced him, ready for whatever he had to say. 

“Az’s childhood was rough. His brothers, his dad. His brothers were quite a bit older, and he was like… easy pickings, to them. And there was his dad, who turned those two into what they were. I can’t get into the details, but you’ve seen some of the scars.” Nesta nodded, giving him space to continue. “Well, not all of his scars were given to him by his family. And they didn’t all happen while he was a child.” 

Nesta put the pieces together immediately. She had spent enough time around Az to see how reserved he was, the way that he held himself apart from the others at times. Mor would try to get him to talk at dinners, to dance when they went out, to participate, and Nesta had wondered what was behind her never-ending energy and attention towards him. It wasn’t mere friendliness, it wasn’t even the result of their feelings for one another. No, this had a different motivation. 

Cassian continued to explain - how they had found out that Azriel hurt himself, what they had done, how they tried to support him. They had been going through this for years. Azriel’s way of coping was unfamiliar to Nesta, but she understood his need; a need so deep and overwhelming that it might have swallowed him whole. Her, too. She knew the cost of showing one face to the people who were supposed to care for you, while keeping the turmoil and bitterness barely contained. 

Nesta took Cassian’s glass from him after he had finished drinking it, setting it on the table next to her own. “And he goes to therapy? And he knows that you all care for him? That you want him to take care of himself?” To each question Cassian gave a short nod of confirmation. 

“So you know that means you’ve done everything you can, right? It’s not up to you to fix him, Cassian. You can’t always take care of everyone.” 

“I promised, though. I promised Rhys’ mom that I would look after both of them.” Cassian leaned forward, placing his face in his hands. Nesta laid a hand on his back. Silence fell over the apartment, a silence that Nesta felt she would remember as much as she would remember the tune of a song if there had been music playing. 

When Cassian leaned his head on her shoulder, she shifted slightly accommodate him. When he fell asleep, she moved a bit more to lie down, draping her legs over his lap and pulling a blanket down to cover the two of them. Eventually, when her mind ceased racing, she fell asleep with him. 

**** 

Days later Nesta hadn’t heard much from Cassian, and she assumed that he was busy with work and taking care of Az. He had left her apartment quietly, reassuring her that he would be in touch soon. Nesta, assuming that meant he needed time, decided to wait for him to contact her. 

Nesta had plans to meet with Mor, which they had made well in advance of the incident at Azriel’s apartment. Of all Feyre’s friends, Morrigan was the one Nesta felt the most connection to. It wasn’t that they were similar, but Nesta appreciated Mor’s unapologetic attitude, one she managed to pull off while still retaining the mantle of kindness. 

There had been something of a slight mistrust between her and the others, initially. That was how Nesta approached nearly everyone she met, but Rhys seemed like he could get along with anyone, and Nesta couldn’t help but be drawn to Morrigan, her way of pleasing herself, others be damned. Coupled with an intense kindness, Nesta knew she would never be like that, but she admired it in her friend. And Cassian, she knew well now that his flippant attitude hid a deep loyalty to his friends. Azriel, though. She had recognized something of herself in him, and it had made her shy away. The silence he wrapped himself in was not dissimilar to the way that she protected herself and Elain, holding others away with little more than a look. 

So the contrasting openness in Mor’s expression was something of a mystery, one that Nesta wanted to know more about. 

Opening her apartment door, Mor shook a bottle of wine. “I brought libations.” 

Turning to let Mor follow her inside the kitchen, Nesta responded, “I have a box. We’ll drink your bottle first, though.” 

Mor snickered behind her and went straight to the drawer in the kitchen where the bottle opener was kept. Peeling the foil away from the neck of the bottle, she took her usual seat at the bar while Nesta finished plating the food she’d had delivered. 

These evenings were something that Nesta hadn’t known she wanted until she had them. And now Nesta looked forward to the familiarity with which Mor waltzed into her apartment and made herself at home. They would eat, talk about their lives and relationships, their families, and generally end the evening with a warm, slightly drunk sense of camaraderie. 

This evening, however, was a bit different. As they were finishing their meal Mor became uncharacteristically quiet, seeming to have difficulty finishing her food with her usual gusto. Nesta waited for it to come out, well aware that Mor was working herself up to a more serious topic. 

When the time came, Mor paused, setting her silverware down on her plate and tilting her head at Nesta before she spoke. “Don’t hurt him, Nesta,” Mor said. Nesta opened her mouth to snap but Mor held her hand up. “You aren’t the only one who cares. You aren’t the only one who would protect the people they love. And I like you, I do. You and your sisters have found a place here with us and I hope that continues, for everyone’s sake. You are my friend, but Cassian is family. And I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.” 

Nesta found herself speechless, unable to understand how this had happened. How her intentions to care had led to Mor thinking she was giving up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. He hasn't said anything to me about this." 

Her expression softening, Mor pulled Nesta’s hand into her own. “He shouldn't have to, Nesta. He's trying to make sure you are comfortable, after everything you have been through." Nesta sighed, wondering if talking about Tomas and her father one drunken evening had been a mistake. "You need to make a decision. Whether or not this is worth it. Because if you aren’t ready, if you can’t handle this, or him, he needs to know. He deserves that. So do you.” Mor rubbed the back of Nesta’s hand with her thumb reassuringly, wishing she could explain how much Cassian cared for her but knowing the words wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t matter if Nesta wouldn’t see it. 

“He puts too much on himself. Cassian deserves someone who will put the same amount of energy into him as he puts into them,” Mor continued. 

“I’m giving him space,” Nesta snapped, pulling her hand away. 

“Are you? Or are you backing away from someone who could really use your support right now?” Mor asked, challenging her. 

Nesta crossed her arms. “I think this lunch is over.” She stood from the table, grabbing Mor’s half-empty plate and stacking it on her own. “I’ll take care of this,” she said, gesturing to the food and dishes still laid out on the table. 

“I’m not going to leave you alone about this. You can push me out, that’s fine, but Nesta,” Mor paused, waiting for Nesta to look up at her. “Don’t just disappear. Sometimes you have to put yourself out there. Be honest.” 

“You should take your own advice, Mor. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Az would do anything for you, so what are you doing?” 

Mor laughed bitterly. “You think I know, Nesta?” Her head dropped to her hands and she sat there, looking at the floor, collecting herself. “Az and I dated before. For a long time, actually. But all of this, I can’t help him with it. It’s been going on for a long time, and I told him he needs to get help. And my own feelings are complicated.” 

“How? Do you care about him?” 

“Of course I care about him, but I don’t know if it means anything, Nesta. I don’t know anything anymore because he needs to heal. I can love him with everything I have, and it won’t be enough, not ever, because he won’t accept it.” Mor’s voice hitched and she blinked away tears. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about us. About what it might be like to try again. But I had to walk away for myself. And honestly, where I’m at now, with Viviane, it’s a really good place. But that isn’t the question. Your situation with Cassian… you have a real chance. There is nothing in your way except yourself.” 

Nesta nodded, fully understanding the difference between wanting something and it becoming reality. She didn’t need to understand what was going on between Mor and Az, but she was intimately acquainted with the unique tension of being aware of how she felt and being unable to act on it, for reasons out of her control. 

Mor stood to leave and Nesta followed her to the door. Turning around to look at Nesta, Mor put her foot in the doorway to ensure that it wouldn’t be shut in her face before she could speak. “You’re good for him, Nesta. And I haven’t known you that long, but I think he’s good for you, too.” 

Nesta stopped herself from scoffing, the implications taking on a new gravity when given form in words. Fingering the constellation pendant hanging from her neck, she let herself ask, “What does it matter? If they leave or hurt you or-“ The sudden understanding on Mor’s face stopped her cold and her hands dropped to her sides. 

“There are people in this world, Nesta, who will let you down. There are people who will say they will be there, and then they will be gone when you really need them. But you will never know, if you don’t give them the chance. They will disappoint you. They will hurt you. But when they stay? When they show themselves to be good, when they keep their promises?” Mor’s voice broke and she cleared her throat. “Those moments make up for all the rest of it. When you need help and someone is there to catch you, it makes up for all the other times that someone let you crash, alone. But you will never know, you will never be able to repair those wounds if you don’t let your friends open their arms. If you don’t let him in.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Nesta answered. At the moment it was the best she could do. Not quite a promise, but something of a reassurance that she would not hold this against someone who was trying to do what no one else had before. 

Mor waved and left, and Nesta let the door shut, standing for a moment, eyes closed, forehead against the door. 

***** 

“How is Az doing?” Nesta asked Cassian a few weeks later. His reserve hadn’t lessened, and Nesta found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to draw him out of himself. This was not something she excelled at. She was well aware that she was not a people person, not Elain with her sweet, welcoming smiles, or fearless Mor whose confidence seemed to rub off on everyone around her. Even Feyre had marginally more talent at making herself liked, and Nesta found herself thinking more than once about what her sisters and friends would do in this situation. 

They had met at his apartment, which Nesta found to be surprisingly warm and welcoming. The shades of brown in the living room were softened further by the light of the setting sun, and Nesta turned her face to absorb some of its last warmth coming from the open window. Cassian was sitting on a chair opposite her, usual drink in hand. 

“He’s doing better. He wasn’t taking care of himself properly, so I’ve been spending a lot of time over there, keeping an eye out, making sure he’s not alone too much,” Cassian responded. 

“Good. I’m glad he has you,” Nesta said. 

“You could go and see him too, you know,” Cassian said. 

“What? Really?” 

“Yeah. He’d like to see you. Mor has gone, and Rhys, and Feyre.” 

“I didn’t know he’d want me there. I mean you all have known him for a long time. And it seems pretty personal.” Nesta uncrossed her legs, standing to go to the window. The sun finally had finally gone down and the lights of the city began to appear. Nesta always liked the quiet of being this high up, of knowing that on the street below there was noise and bustle and activity that she was shielded from. 

“He needs to know that you care. You can’t just… expect people to know what you’re thinking and feeling all the time. You can’t leave them in the dark, wondering if you give a shit and waiting for them to figure it out.” 

Nesta flinched at the force of Cassian’s words, the uncharacteristic profanity. “I guess I thought I was just giving him space. I don’t know, why would he want me around? But is this about him, or you?” she asked. 

“I can’t keep going on these scraps you leave me,” Cassian said. He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “You hold yourself back and you tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. But you aren’t. Not for either of us.” 

Nesta took a step back as if he had hit her, her eyes narrowing. “Scraps? That’s what you call this? Spending time with you and trying to be supportive?” She tried to think of other examples, of something else to prove him wrong, but came up short. A cold feeling sank into her stomach. 

“You’ve hardly been around, Nesta. You saw a tough situation and you ran away. It makes me wonder what you’ll do if it’s me, next. What will you do when I need you to be there for me?” He stood and crossed his arms. “I am patient, Nesta. But I can’t be with you when you constantly refuse to let yourself be with me. I don’t know exactly why, what is holding you back from trying to be happy. And I don’t expect you to tell me. I love you. More than you know. But I can’t be with someone who makes me do all the work and gives me nothing in return, no matter how much I want to be with you.” 

“Cassian,” she began, with every intention of making good on what she owed. A story, she would give him a story and make this better, now. Nesta had never wanted to share so much of herself, to give and give until she had nothing left. She knew that he would repay her in kind, that any piece of herself she gave away would be replaced by his smile, the way his eyes would crinkle and he would lean forward in anticipation of laughing. The lightness in her heart in those moments would strip away any doubt she had that she loved him, and yet… there was this nagging doubt in the back of her mind, that he would ever love someone like her, in the end. That he would want to stay. 

When Nesta saw an absence of feeling in his eyes, she stopped herself from spilling out every word she’d wanted to say to him. Shaking her head, she walked out of the door. She made it partway down the hall before she stopped, struggling between her need to talk to Cassian and fix everything, to offer him every last battered and tired part of herself, and wanting to retain some sense of dignity. 

Instead, she took out her phone. Before she could second-guess herself, she typed _I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need. I would give you everything but I don’t think you’d want it_. She shoved her phone back into the pocket of her jeans, instantly regretting the words while a sense of relief washed over her at having hit “send”. Perhaps one day she could tell him everything, say whatever she wanted, without fear that he would reject and despise her. But she didn’t know when that day would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! Life, man...


	5. The death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta's relationship with her friends and family is tested when tragedy strikes, a bit closer to home this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this takes me so long to update. I'm fairly excited for the next chapter, which I think will be the last one, so hopefully it won't take me quite as long!

Nesta woke with the sun shining uncomfortably bright in her room. She had apparently fallen into bed in her clothes, without closing the curtains. Great. She reached a hand out, blindly groping for her phone. Knocking it off of her nightstand instead of picking it up, she cursed into her pillow. Realizing that she needed to join the world of the living, she threw her body towards the edge of the bed to retrieve it from the floor, nearly sliding off of it, and groaned when she saw the amount of notifications she had from Feyre and Mor. 

But none of them were from Cassian. 

Nesta wouldn’t consider herself a particularly social person, so a lack of notifications was nothing new, except for when what she really wanted to know was that someone would fight for her, even when she pushed them away. Especially then, she realized, as she tried to fight back tears. 

But she had work to do, co-workers who would need to be kept in line and on task, so perhaps just turning her phone off for the day would be the answer. That way, she wouldn’t have to pretend that the one person in the world she wanted to talk to most of all had taken her meaning literally when she walked away. 

Throwing her bed on the phone, she stood and padded to the bathroom to shower, hopefully taking the negativity of the day before down the drain with her shampoo. Once under the hot rush of water, she made a mental tally of tasks she needed to accomplish for the day. She rarely needed to consult her planner or make lists, though sometimes she did those things in an effort to encourage her less-organized co-workers to do so when they missed deadlines or forgot to send important documents to the appropriate offices. She couldn’t imagine Cassian making lists; no, he was probably like her, managing to - no! She wasn’t supposed to let herself go down that path. Nesta chastised herself for thinking about him, and promptly went about doing more productive things like washing her hair and checking the weather and making a bagel to eat on the way out the door. 

She grabbed her phone while she waited for her breakfast, checking the notifications one last time. Nothing from Cassian. Fine. If he didn’t think she was putting enough effort into their relationship, she was going to be done with it. Flicking the power switch, she finally decided that if her phone was off, then she couldn’t know that he wasn’t contacting her, and it might hurt a bit less. 

But just as the toaster popped up with her bagel ready to slather with cream cheese, a knock came on her door. Given the nature of unexpected visits in her recent history, Nesta instantly tensed. 

Opening the door, she stood aside to let Feyre in, a mixture of surprise and relief. “What are you doing here this early?” she asked. Feyre turned towards her, nervously spinning her wedding ring around her finger, a new habit she had picked up. Nesta wondered if it were to comfort herself as much as to reassure herself that it was real, considering how much Feyre’s life had changed in the last year. 

“Don’t you ever check your phone?” Feyre snapped. “I left you text messages, I left you voicemails. Damnit, Nesta, when you close yourself off like this…” She trailed off, trying to regain control. 

Nesta crossed her arms. “Excuse me, who’s the one who keeps running off to live with different guys?” It was a ridiculous accusation, she knew, but she already had a shitty day before, a shitty morning, and now Feyre was looking to make the trend continue. “You don’t get to come here and talk to me like that.” 

“Nesta,” Feyre began, “I need to tell you something. And I need you to listen to me.” Nesta started to wonder if the tremble in Feyre’s voice was anger, or if something else going on. She rarely saw her sister rattled, not since they were children, before their mother had died. Oh, god, if it was something like that… 

“What do you want? Hurry, I have to get to work.” Nesta felt the remnants of her anger seeping from her throat, thought she already intuited that this was not the time for it. Something bad was happening. Looking back at this moment, she would say that she already knew that everything was about the change; she just didn’t know how. 

She moved to the counter and pulled her bagel from the toaster, her back to Feyre. Cursing when the breakfast food dared to burn her hand, she dropped it. 

“Nesta, stop,” Feyre said, her voice still quivering with either anger or fear. Nesta wanted to believe that her sister was just angry at her, but there was something else there, something beside Nesta’s inability to communicate with her family in a timely manner. 

“It’s Dad. He’s in the hospital.” 

Nesta froze for a moment, and then turned around. “So what?” 

Feyre sighed and rubbed her face in her hands. She looked exhausted, and Nesta wondered how long she had been awake, how long they had been trying to get ahold of her. “They don’t think he’s going to make it, that’s what. You’ll regret it if you don’t go. Go see him, Nesta. You don’t have to talk to him. Just come with me.” 

Nesta took a few deep breaths, steadying herself for the decision she knew she was about to make, though everything in her screamed not to. Feyre merely stood watching, and the fact that their roles had once again reversed and her youngest sister was taking the lead and caring for everyone galled her. 

“Ok. Is Elain already there?” Nesta knew that Elain still doted on their father, forgave him for any slight, no matter how much he had hurt all of them. As much as she despised her father, she couldn’t begrudge Elain the desire to continue believing the best in him, not when nearly everyone else in their lives had let them down. 

“Yes. Everyone is.” 

Nesta didn’t ask who “everyone” was, but assumed it included Rhys. Who else might be there, she didn’t know, and didn’t care. 

“Let’s go.” Nesta grabbed her phone and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans, power still switched off, and gestured for Feyre to lead the way. Closing the door behind them, Nesta had to keep herself from slamming it shut. 

***** 

By the time they reached the hospital, Nesta had gleaned enough information from Feyre. It had been a heart attack. He was on a business trip, had just barely returned, in fact, when he had been rushed to the hospital. Nesta didn’t ask who he had been with, who had called 911. 

Walking quickly into the ER, she looked for Elain. A familiar, honey-sweet voice came from down the hall, and she followed it until she found a room bustling with nurses checking machines and vitals and changing IVs and doing all sorts of things Nesta didn’t understand. Her eyes went straight to Elain, whose eyes were red and shining with recent tears as she bustled around the bed, adjusting pillows and speaking familiarly with the staff, as if they were already friends. 

Then she looked to the man lying on the bed. He looked thinner than she remembered, even those few weeks ago at Feyre’s wedding. Of course they hadn’t seen each other since then. 

Elain rushed to Nesta, hugging her tight and burying her face in her neck. A small sob escaped her, but when she looked up at Nesta, she had a small, hopeful smile on her face. “They’re taking care of him. They said there’s a good chance he’ll be ok.” 

“And how are you, Elain? Do you need anything? Food, coffee?” Nesta hugged her sister tight once more before letting her go and standing against a wall, hands clasped behind her back. 

“No,” Elain said, shaking her head. “But I do need to use the restroom. Sit with him, will you?” Elain smiled at Nesta, and before she could protest, was out the door. 

Nesta turned her head slowly to her father, realized that Feyre had stayed outside in the hallway, and rolled her eyes. 

“Dad.” 

“Nesta.” He seemed smaller, somehow. Not just thinner, but lesser, as if his vitality were being slowly stripped away somehow. A curtain around his bed kept them from total privacy, and she was grateful for it. “How are you, my warrior princ-“ 

“No,” Nesta snapped. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Ok,” he replied, taking her response in stride. A childhood nickname would not do, not now, not after everything they had been through. She had grown to hate it, to being called “warrior princess”, after she decided it was his excuse to himself for his benign neglect. 

He began again. “I hear work is going well.” 

Nesta snorted. “Yeah, let’s talk about work.” She sighed, trying for compromise. “How are you? What did they say?” 

“Heart attack.” He gestured to the machines making noises around him at regular intervals. “They’re keeping an eye on me. I’m going in for surgery later.” 

Nesta made a noncommittal noise, nodding her head. 

Silence, but for the beeping of the machines, the muffled sound of announcements in the hallway, alarms and shuffling feet hurrying to save a life in some other room. 

The emergency room. The last time she had been here, it was for herself. And she had been alone. 

Shaking off the memory, she pushed herself off the wall. “I’m going to find Elain and Feyre.” Without waiting for him to respond, Nesta left the room in a rush, throwing the curtain around his bed back in place so forcefully that it slid all the way along its rod to open again on the opposite side. She could hear her name being called behind her, her father’s voice hoarse and strained, and even now she thought she could detect a hint of insincerity in the words. Or at the very least, a future filled with disappointment when he once again failed to deliver. 

She was walking, fists at her sides, eyes on the floor, when she walked into a wall. Or, what she thought was a wall, until she realized that it had give, that it was warm, and was wearing a shirt. Looking up, momentarily forgetting to keep anger on her face, her eyes met Cassian’s. He grabbed her arms to keep her from rebounding back and falling on her ass, and she let him hold her there, too overcome by her stilted conversation with her father to remember why she wasn’t talking to Cassian. 

Looking over his shoulder, Nesta saw Mor leaning against a wall, waiting. Behind her, Azriel stood, shifting on his heels. So they had all come. After everything she had said to them, how horrible she had been, they had come. For her. For her sisters. 

She looked back at Cassian, said his name quietly, and let herself fall into his chest, where she was soon surrounded by familiar warmth and strength. Letting herself go, she began to cry. 

***** 

Hours later, sitting in a waiting room lit by sickly green fluorescent lights, Nesta rested with her head against the wall. Earlier, she had curled into the corner of a couch, holding Elain as she sobbed. Then Lucien had come to take her away, to get her outside in the fresh air and sunshine for a few minutes before leading her back down the hall to their father’s room. Nesta had let him take her; knowing that Elain was cared for, by anyone, at this time, was good enough for her. She would do anything for Elain, would tear apart the world, but she had to admit to herself that she was done. She could barely take care of herself at this point. She certainly couldn’t be trusted to not hurt her father, and by proxy Elain. So Nesta sat, and waited. 

Cassian had sat with them for a while, Azriel pacing in the adjacent corridor, but eventually they all went to the cafeteria to get food, leaving Nesta with her thoughts. Mostly, she was numb. Mostly, she wanted it all to be over, so she could go to work and pretend that none of this had happened. 

Rubbing her shirt, trying to get rid of a mascara stain that Elain had left on the white cotton, Nesta didn’t hear Mor approach. Didn’t know anyone else was even in the room until a styrofoam cup of coffee was in front of her face. 

“For you,” she said, plopping down on the opposite side of the couch after Nesta took the cup, legs crossed and facing Nesta. 

“Thank you.” Nesta wasn’t sure that caffeine had any effect on her, but the warmth and sweetness - of course Mor knew how she took her coffee, had known what to do without asking - that was a comfort to her. Wrapping her hands around the cheap material, she sighed. 

“What’s going on now?” Mor asked gently. 

“He’s in surgery.” 

“Ok,” Mor replied. She tilted her head, trying to catch Nesta’s gaze. “Nesta, what I said the other day. About you and Cassian. I didn’t want to hurt you or upset you. I love you, you know.” Nesta looked up, startled, and Mor laughed. “Not in that way, you idiot. I just mean, you’re my friend. And Cassian is my friend. And I don’t want either of you to hurt. Especially not each other.” 

Nesta pursed her lips, and the nodded slowly. “Ok.” 

“Ok,” Mor echoed, grinning. And just like that, Nesta knew they were going to be fine. That they always had been. 

They finished their coffee in silence, waiting for the hours that the surgery would inevitably require to pass by. Cassian and Azriel eventually joined them, respecting her need to avoid conversation. When Cassian laid his hand on Nesta’s arm, she took the invitation for what it was and shifted into him, resting her head on his chest without a word. 

***** 

Nesta had nearly fallen asleep, ridiculously uncomfortable couch notwithstanding, when Feyre came walking down the hallway, an odd shake wracking her body. Nesta stood, recognizing this as another in the endless series of events that would change her life, and indeed all of their lives. 

“Nesta, he’s gone. He didn’t make it through the surgery.” Rhys stood behind Feyre, hand on the small of her back, a silent show of support for all of them apparent in his eyes. That was when Nesta recognized Elain’s sob down the hall, where she had stayed behind. 

“Elain?” Nesta moved to join her, nearly breaking into a run to comfort her sister. Her sisters. They were all that was left. After a nearly idyllic childhood had been shattered by the death of their mother and then the absence of their father, Nesta clung to that. 

As soon as she entered their father’s room, Elain collapsed onto Nesta, clinging to her in a way she hadn’t since they were children and their mother died. Nesta had never wanted to repeat this scene, had dreaded it, woken up in the middle of the night for years in terror of Elain’s pain. Feyre joined them, quietly crying as Elain sobbed, and Nesta held them all, her face frozen in terror as much from the reminder of the past as the trauma of the present. 

It wasn’t for herself that she might have wept. It was only for what might have been, and whatever pain her sisters may have felt at his passing. She told herself this, over and over, and they quietly pulled themselves together, wiped tears from faces, and slowly turned to their other friends and loved ones who had gathered. 

After quietly discussing the arrangements, Nesta turned to Cassian, asking him to take her home. Her and Elain. He placed a hand at her back and she leaned into him, going to lead Elain away but Lucien offered to take care of her. They all agreed that it might be for the best, and went their separate ways, grief and terror of change clinging to every movement, however little it seemed to matter given the man’s absence from their lives to this point. 

***** 

In the car home, Nesta was quiet. Cassian unlocked her apartment door for her, led her inside as if it were his home. She walked mechanically to her bed, startled to find that it her room was dark despite the still-open curtains, that she had been gone for so long. Crawling into the bed, she lay on top of the rumpled bedding. Cassian sat on the edge of the bed next to her, waiting for her to speak. 

“He was never there. He told me,” her voice quivered, “he told me that if I ever needed him to call, that he would be there. After mom died, he said he would do anything he needed to do to keep the family together. And then he left.” 

Cassian looked confused, trying to put the pieces together of what she had told him. “But didn’t you live with him, you and Feyre and Elain?” 

Nesta laughed, but there was so much bitterness laced in it that it could barely be called such. “Bullshit. He went away on business, gambled away what little she left us on bad deals, and then drowned himself in drink. Do you know when Feyre learned how to cook? To do laundry? She was 8 years old, trying to keep me and Elain from falling apart. I was 13, looking for my parents, and recognizing nothing of the sort in my father.” She spat out the last word, taking away all of its import. 

“Being there in body isn’t enough,” Cassian said. “Being around physically, it isn’t the same as supporting someone, showing them how to grow up, to live, to make their way through this world. That’s what a parent should do. I’m sorry that he didn’t do that for you.” 

“Thank you,” Nesta replied, her voice so small that she could barely hear it herself. She shifted on the bed, making room for him. “Will you stay?” 

Cassian moved to cradle her, stroking her hair as she finally allowed herself to fall asleep. 

“Nesta,” he said, wiping away a stray tear that she otherwise refused to acknowledge. “I’ll be here. Whatever you need. Just let me know.” 

And somehow, something inside of her allowed herself to nod, to accept his offer. Because despite the countless times her father, or Tomas, or anyone else had told her something similar, she believed him. 


	6. The funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta attends her father’s funeral, but first she has a talk with Azriel about dealing with their pasts. A surprise guest at the funeral nearly ruins everything, but afterwards she and Cassian come to terms with everything that has happened.

Whether she realized it or not, Nesta Archeron was exhausted. 

The last weeks were beginning to take their toll, between work, her confusion over how to deal with Cassian, trying and failing to support him and Azriel, and then her father’s passing. She came home at the end of every day, threw her purse and laptop case on an armchair, warmed up leftovers in the microwave that she barely touched, and passed out in bed by 9pm. No matter how much sleep she got she woke up tired, and Nesta wondered when she would catch up and finally feel a bit like her old self again. 

The old Nesta was able to take on the world. That Nesta could have handled all of this with grace and poise and certainty. She would never have done anything to make people doubt her capability at dealing with any manner of stressful situation. 

And yet here she was. 

These last few weeks, it had all become too much, and she had come to admit to herself that she had reached her breaking point without having noticed. No one ever expected her to crack under pressure, least of all herself, and so when that moment came, she failed to recognize it. Surely, the woman made of fire, the one her co-workers called tough as nails, that woman would never have collapsed into someone’s arms, in tears, no less. That woman would have marched into her father’s hospital room, taken care of her sisters, the funeral arrangements, everything. She never would have let others take care of her family. 

From what she heard, Rhys was handling most of the arrangements and caring for Feyre, Lucien was looking after Elain, and she… well, Cassian had spent most nights on her couch. An invitation for him to stay had never been formally extended, but she didn’t complain when he cooked for her, ensured that her bed was made though she left the sheets and duvet in a mess, and she was fairly certain he had even cleaned her bathroom. 

In another lifetime, it seemed, he had cleaned a different bathroom for her, after accidentally spraying it with champagne. She couldn’t think about it without a grin creeping up on her face, even now. Even when she thought that she had nothing left in her, merely the memory of Cassian was enough to cause all of her problems to seem not quite so daunting. 

It would all be so much easier, she told herself, if she could just cut herself off from other people. Elain had never let her down. She never would. And if Nesta could just count on that, and the fact that she knew exactly what she was doing at work, that the law, with all its ambiguities and manipulation of language, was something she could still master, she could manage life. 

This whole relationship thing, though. That was another story. Somehow it had snuck up on her and she wasn’t sure anymore which way was up or how to deal with her feelings when she had to explain them to someone else. It was terrifying, this prospect of letting Cassian in, of telling him what she felt. Telling someone what she wanted was foreign, uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure if she deserved to even speak the words. 

Nesta had even found herself closer to Feyre. Every time she saw Feyre reach up to touch that pendant, the Northern Crown, Nesta was reminded of the moments they had shared before her marriage to Rhys, their mother and how much that story had meant to her. It was a connection to her youngest sister that she never expected, and sometimes she was startled to remember that she had forged it herself. 

That, too, seemed a lifetime ago. 

Nesta didn’t know how to extract herself from these connections, if she wanted to, but she knew that a day was coming soon when someone would demand something of her that she might not be able to give. 

It was the day of her father’s memorial, and she stood looking at herself in a full-length mirror. She wore the requisite black dress, modest, boring, but appropriate. She reached up to touch the chignon she wore at the nape of her neck and sighed. Looking at the time on her phone, she calculated the hours until she would be back home and could collapse in bed with a glass of wine. 

Her doorbell rang, a sound that caused Nesta to flinch. She opened it expecting Cassian, but instead someone much more stoic was at her door. 

“Az. Hi.” She didn’t sound surprised, or disappointed; in fact, her voice was nearly flat without being rude. 

“Cassian asked me to pick you up. He’s stuck in traffic.” Azriel stood in the doorway, waiting for an invitation in or for her to lead him out. He was calm and clearly respecting her space. She knew she had a tendency to put up walls first and ask questions later, so with a sigh she stepped aside to let him in. 

Nesta turned and gestured to her living room. “You can take a seat. I’m not quite ready.” 

With a nod, Az sat, pulling a small paperback out of his pocket. Something existential, she assumed. She offered Azriel a drink but he refused to let her serve him, asking instead where she kept her glasses. Nesta showed him the bar and with a small, polite smile, she walked back to her bedroom. 

Pulling on a cardigan, she made a mental inventory of what she would need. Not much, presuming that Rhys and Feyre had taken care of everything. And of course Rhys would have made sure of that. He had an annoying habit of assuming responsibility for everything and everyone around them, even when they didn’t need him to be in charge. The last time she had gone through this she had been a child. She had no idea what was required, how to take care of death. How to grieve as an adult. Giving up on any sense of being more prepared than she already was, she opened her bedroom door. 

Nesta walked down the hall, made herself a drink, and flopped onto the couch next to Azriel. She wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, not ready to face the sympathetic looks and inane expressions of sorrow at the passing of her father. 

“How are things?” she asked, looking pointedly at his wrists. Neither of them were much for pretense, a fact she appreciated. 

She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Azriel responded with a slight smile. “Better.” 

That might be all the response she got out of him on that topic, and she knew not to push further. Neither of them would appreciate that now, given the circumstances. And somehow, Nesta realized that there were few people who might understand her as well as Azriel. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” She nodded her head as if she had any idea what he had gone through, but a part of her wondered. Partly in an effort to delay their departure, and partly out of genuine curiosity, she decided to probe into his past. Just slightly, just enough to understand how she might cope with her own. 

“How did you deal with it, Az? I mean…” Nesta paused, searching for the words. What Azriel had gone through, it was nothing like her own history. And yet she felt like he might understand her and intuit the answers she needed. “How do you deal with it? Now? I feel like something has been living in me and feeding me all this bitterness and I never noticed it, it’s been there so long. I don’t know how to let it go, or to get rid of it, or whatever one does to just… move on.” She was rambling, she wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t stop herself. Azriel was just looking at her with this calm understanding, deeper than even the intense protectiveness that Cassian showed her or Elain’s innocent optimism that forced her to ignore what was eating away her insides. 

No, she and Azriel had relatively little in common, and yet she knew that he understood perfectly. 

“You don’t,” he answered. Blunt. She could appreciate that, but she tried to hide her disappointment and took a drink. 

“You don’t move on from it. It will come back,” he continued. “It will always be a part of you. But you have to realize, Nesta, that it isn’t all of you. It isn’t the best part of you, or the most important part. You get to decide what that is. You get to choose what sort of person you want to be, what you want to care about and spend your time on. And sometimes, the bad will find you again.” 

Azriel rubbed his left wrist and was silent for a moment. When he began speaking again, Nesta nearly started out of her seat. 

“What they don’t tell you is that these things, they make you who you are. But all of the other moments, they make you, too. The times when you laughed, when you were happy, when you protected Elain and shared part of your mother with Feyre, when you loved Cassian,” - she wanted to protest, but the determination in his look stopped her - “those things are just as much a part of you as any of it. But you have to make that choice, every day, over and over again, to let those things be a bigger part of you than the bitterness. The hate and the despair. You will never find a day when you no longer need to make that choice.” He fell silent, and Nesta understood. 

It would always be a part of her, as much as any of the rest of it. She knew that Azriel was right. And she knew that the rest of her life, she might struggle with this. But that didn’t have to define her. 

They quietly finished their drinks as Nesta continued to contemplate what Azriel had said. Standing, she took their glasses to the kitchen, rinsing them and setting them by the sink. 

Waiting by the door, she said, “I think I’m ready now.” 

***** 

At the memorial, Nesta searched for a bar. Realizing there wouldn’t be one, she checked her phone for the time. This wouldn’t last long. She was sure she could make it through this ceremony, for Elain and Feyre. Wandering the room, she smiled blandly at people who offered their sympathies, as if they had forgotten that she had despised her father. They were people she hadn’t seen for years, and wouldn’t see again, but she didn’t feel like being scolded by her sisters if she dared offend anyone. 

An overpowering smell was coming from the corner of the room where bouquets and those strange circular funeral arrangements stood on tripods, and Nesta decided to make her way over to them. She didn’t want to be caught doing nothing and be forced into conversing with yet another person she hadn’t seen in decades. Seeing who had spent an outrageous sum on flowers as a gesture of goodwill towards the family was as good an excuse as any. She sauntered over and began looking at the cards attached, forgetting the names as soon as she read them. 

Nesta felt somewhat walk up behind her and was relieved to see that it was Feyre. 

“How are you doing?” Feyre asked. 

Nesta shrugged. “Fine. You?” 

“I’m ok. Well, you know.” 

Nesta nodded, absently pulling another card from its tiny envelope. “Lots of people came. More than I expected,” Nesta said. “There were more people for Mom.” 

“Well, yes,” was Feyre’s only reply. 

Nesta pulled out another card attached to a rather ostentatious display of flowers and her face screwed up in disgust when she saw who they were from. “Tamlin? Really, Feyre? You’re letting this shit stick around? I don’t care if it is for Dad, this needs to go.” The display was one of the largest there, the flowers appealing to none of their tastes nor proper for mourning, merely serving a purpose to show how much money he had been willing to spend. Nesta reached beneath the arrangement to pry it from its stand when Feyre placed her hand on Nesta’s arm. She nearly yanked it away. 

“We’ve talked, Nesta. He is moving on, and so am I.” 

Nesta stared blankly at Feyre, and she held the card in her fist as Feyre began again, calmly explaining. “I’m not going to see him again. And he is going to respect my space. He wants me to be happy, Nesta, and honestly, I want the same for him.” 

Nesta’s hand dropped to her side and the card fluttered to the floor. Everything that Azriel had said to her before came rushing back, its import suddenly clear. She was sure that this was what it looked like, for Feyre at least. This idea of moving on, of embracing the reality of the past while not letting it dictate the future. Nodding slowly, she replied, “OK. If that’s what you want.” 

“It is. Thank you, Nesta.” She watched Feyre walk away. There was a lightness to her step, her carriage tall and confident as she fingered the pendant at her throat. And Nesta realized that she hadn’t seen her sister like this in a long time. She searched her memories, and all she could come up with was their childhood. Before everything changed. That was the last time she had seen Feyre not just happy. But content. Despite recent events, despite where they were, she could see the choice that Feyre made every minute to be strong, to decide what defined her. 

That her youngest sister would be living proof of this lesson was little surprise. 

"Hello, Nesta." 

The voice coming from behind Nesta sent a chill up her spine. It was a voice she had hoped she would never hear again. She had seen Cassian enter after she and Azriel had arrived, and though they hadn’t yet talked she immediately searched the room for him. Finding him and catching his eye, her expression filled with panic, he began crossing the room towards her. But not quickly enough. 

She turned around to see Tomas, drink in hand, though where he had gotten it from she had no idea. 

“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded small, and she hated herself for it. There was no one else around, a fact she knew he was well aware of. In this small alcove of the room, surrounded by solemn, fragrant mementos of why they were all there, he could say anything, do anything. Nesta counted the seconds until Cassian would get there. 

And suddenly, she realized that she didn’t need him to come. 

“I’m here to offer my sympathies, dearest,” Tomas replied. “I was sure you wouldn’t want me to miss this. I want to be here for you, you know.” 

Tomas reached for her elbow, and everything afterwards passed in seconds, though it seemed like an eternity. Before she knew what she was doing, Nesta slammed her heel on the insole of his foot, knocking his arm away with her elbow and then shoving him away from her with two hands against his chest. He stumbled, cursing and reaching for his drink and his foot simultaneously so he was unable to keep his balance. Tomas fell, and Nesta readied herself in a defensive stance, one she learned from classes she had quietly attended after the last time they had met. 

Cassian came up behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said quietly to Tomas. 

Her ex found his footing and straightened his jacket. “So, this is who you’ve moved on to?” He sneered and Nesta felt herself shrink, but Cassian’s hand at her back reminded her to make a choice. 

“Yes,” she replied, her voice clear and strong. “And I suggest you do the same. Leave, move on, do whatever you need to, Tomas.” She said his name with as much disdain as she could muster, wondering how she could have ever allowed herself close to a man like this. 

“I don’t want to see you again, around me, my sisters, or anyone else I have even thought about knowing.” Nesta’s voice rang out with confidence, and she nearly smiled to hear a hint of her old self coming back. 

Tomas sniffed, refastening a button on his jacket that had come undone. Nodding, trying to regain some sense of dignity, he slowly backed away. Not from Cassian, Nesta realized. But from her. The hint of a smile she had worn became a full-blown grin as he turned on his heels, shoving people out of his way as he left. 

Turning to Cassian, Nesta said, “Let’s find a seat, shall we?” 

***** 

The rest of the memorial passed in a relatively predictable manner. People spoke, people Nesta hadn't seen in years, since her childhood probably. They tried to tell her, Feyre, and Elain what a good person their father was, as if she didn't know already just what quality of man he had been. Feyre stood to make a statement on behalf of all of them. Elain was too overcome with sorrow, Nesta's arms firmly wrapped around her, while Nesta herself couldn't have taken the energy or time to say anything meaningful. 

But a small, infinitesimal part of her was beginning to let it go. She repeated Azriel's words to herself, a mantra coming from the most unlikely of places that might eventually become part of this new woman she was making herself into. 

At the end of all this ritual, this pretending to care, Nesta breathed a sigh of relief to return to her life. She longed for a few moments to herself, where she could feel like the person she had been before. 

And yet. 

A lawyer walked had come into the room towards the end of all the posturing, waiting patiently with his files and his official representation of things like property and funds and such. Clasping Elain’s hand, she led the way towards him. 

He held his hand out in stiff formality. “Nesta Archeron, I presume,” he said, and she narrowed her eyes. “And Elain,” he finished, ignoring her sister’s red, tear-filled eyes. 

“Yes,” Feyre answered, coming up behind them. “Can we help you?” 

The lawyer dropped his hand to his side after Feyre deigned to shake it, again grasping the handle of his briefcase. “The name is Chen. Mr. I would like to speak with all of you. At your earliest convenience, of course.” 

Taking the card that he had proffered, Feyre responded for all of them. “We will be in touch, Mr. Chen. Thank you.” 

Nodding his head, he turned on his heels and left. 

Turning to her sisters, Feyre asked, “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” 

***** 

The rest of the evening passed in somber reflection, all of them glad to have it over, but none of them quite willing to express the sentiment. It was unseemly, the idea that they might want to quickly put this behind them. Elain was clearly willing to feel the full import of their father’s passing, but neither Feyre nor Nesta were quite so willing to cling to the past. 

Leaving Elain with Lucien seemed the best choice, given their mutual lack of regret. 

Feyre left with Rhys after he assured them all that everything would be taken care of, and when Nesta turned, expecting to find herself alone, she instead found her eyes locked on Cassian’s. He offered her his arm, and as if nothing had passed between them, she accepted. 

When she reached her apartment, Cassian followed Nesta inside, taking his usual spot on the couch. She wouldn’t have even known he was there, he had been so meticulous about cleaning up after himself. Every night of the past week he had gone to the couch and she had gone to bed, leaving the door open just a crack. But tonight, instead of sequestering herself in her bedroom, she sat next to him. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the familiar ticking of the clock the only sound. 

When she began to say his name, he cut her off. 

“Yes.” 

She turned to face him. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, I think you did the right thing. With Tomas, with your father. No matter how they tried to make it up to you, they hurt you, Nesta. And it’s ok to feel that pain.” 

She nodded, resting back on the cushions. More time passed, and she was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice when Cassian stood to pour them both glasses of wine. She sipped at hers absently, the weight of the glass, the warmth of Cassian at her back, the comfortable silence that enveloped them, all part of a scene she had come to expect. 

Nesta fluffed a pillow and then held it to her stomach, her chin resting on it to look over the top at Cassian. “Azriel told me something today. He said that the past will always be a part of me, but that I can choose. That I have to remember all of the good things that make me, me.” 

“What do you think about that? About what Az said?” Cassian asked. Nesta turned to him, expression open and, for the first time in a long time, hopeful. 

“I think that Az has been through things that few people can imagine. And I think that you have, too. Your pasts are nothing alike. Mine is pretty different, too.” She frowned slightly. “But I think that if I can find hope in what he said, then he’s right. I think that there are good things about me, about my life. And I think that one of the good things is you.” 

Nesta leaned into Cassian and he draped an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t think I understood him, at first. How can one choose to think about all the good things? And yet still punish one’s self, the way that he does.” She felt Cassian stiffen slightly behind her, and she placed a hand on his thigh, attempting to communicate understanding. “I do it too, just in different ways. But that’s not the point. I think the point is that it is always there. The good and the bad. And I have to accept the bad, as much as anything else.” 

Cassian rested his chin on Nesta’s shoulder, the two of them so close that she shuddered from the absence she had experienced. She had pushed him away, though she told herself she hadn’t, and now? Now she was ready to take on anything. 

Nesta sat up, looking Cassian straight in the eye. “So tell me, Cassian. How do you do it? How do you deal with every time someone has hurt you?” 

Cassian looked back at her, his cocky grin gone, expression open and patient. 

“A story for a story, Nesta Archeron. You come even with me, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” 

Nesta settled back against him, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Taking a deep breath, she began. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://abookandacoffee.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments appreciated. :)


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